Twisted Love Makes You Strange
by SolidSapphire1018
Summary: Rosaline Jacoby is a masked vigilante in disguise. No one knows about her, so will anyone notice when she's kidnapped by the Joker? A twisted attachment starts to form between them, and Rose's life spirals further and further into oblivion. Note: Rated M.
1. Disguises

People wear disguises for many reasons. Heroes wear them so they cannot be recognized. Villains wear them as part of their façade. Regular citizens might wear them just to experience what it would be like to be someone else because that life is always better than their own. This may simply be because people are insane within their own mind, always wanting more and more to get a feeling of superiority. There is but one problem with this, with the way we see people.

"_Genius is one of the many forms of insanity." – Cesare Lombroso_

-xx-

"Rose… Rose? Rose!"

I jumped and turned my head back toward the window that gave a view to the kitchen. Feeling the mark left behind by my left hand resting on my chin, I blinked and stared at Joe. He was the manager and baker at a small coffee shop on one of the many streets of Gotham City. He was holding a fresh plate of small donuts that were still steaming and an order in his hand. "Table four," he said, before I could make up an excuse for dozing off against the counter again.

"Oh," was all I could say, grabbing the order in both of my hands. "Thanks, Joe."

I walked it over to the table and put it down by a young, well-dressed man with a laptop. That was the most frequent type of person we got in here. Of course, there were about a million things I would have rather been doing than working today. Nevertheless, I put on a fake smile and proceeded on for the next few hours without complaint. In the middle of the afternoon, several police cars zoomed by the doors along the street toward the bank. I sighed. That was only to be expected, and of course everyone was interested. People threw money on the tables, picked up their personal computers, and left right away. I went around gathering it all and throwing dishes into a bin. "It was only a matter of time before things started happening during the day," I called to anyone who would listen.

"Well Batman has to have a day job. People probably think this is the safest time to do it," chuckled Joe from the kitchen. "Listen, why don't you head home early, Rose? I'll make Jenny lock up. I can't have a waitress falling asleep during her shift anyway."

I sighed, feeling bad that I would have to let the new waitress, Jenny, lock up on her own that evening. However, I did not argue. I wanted to go home. So I threw the apron up on the hook that had my name engraved above it on a plaque on the wall in the kitchen and walked out the door. It was an elegant place, despite its small size. So I wore a black skirt, shorter than I would have preferred, with a black blouse that had a few buttons undone. Heels were essential, of course, and my hair was tucked back in a bun. I walked every day down and up several streets (in the opposite direction of the bank) every day to get to and from my job. It provided me with exercise, and as much as I wished to take my heels off halfway, it would not be a good idea to walk barefoot on the streets of Gotham.

I could still hear the sirens as I made my way across the street and down the sidewalk, away from them. While at an intersection, I passed two school buses stopped there. One was full of screaming kids that were happy to be done with school. However, the other one, stopped in front of the first, was empty it seemed. I furrowed my brow at it, searching for signs of kids in the rows as I approached the front of it. There was a driver, obviously, but what I saw only made me more confused. He wore make up, war paint. He looked like a Halloween character that fell into a puddle. I would have laughed if I had not realized that something strange was going on with him. However at that moment, he turned toward me. I immediately looked away and pretended to be toying with the bun in my hair, taking it out as an excuse for standing there. I did not look back, but I could feel his eyes on me. I shook out my dark brown hair so it fell down my shoulders in waves and started walking again once the signal to let me came on. When I heard the engine of the bus rev and speed up, I walked quicker, disappearing into a crowd of people the first chance I got.

-xx-

"I want to know who he is," I ordered Amy, a friend of mine who did research in my apartment because I had Internet. Plus she designed all of my equipment and did all of the tracking of villains in the city.

"Look," she reasoned. "I can't get a positive ID on someone when the only description you give me is that he wears makeup."

There was a reason I was so tired a lot of the time and why I had a job that only went into the afternoon. To make it short, I was a secret female version of the Batman. No one knew about me, except for Batman himself and a few detectives. The famous Harvey Dent and Rachel Dawes knew too, but not who I was. I knew them well as myself, though, simply because I knew Bruce Wayne. This was because he owned the restaurant I worked at and would often stop in for coffee and a casual flirt with Jenny or me. It was a complicated chart of who knew whom.

The way I fought was different than Batman or Harvey. I stayed in the shadows, unnoticed except for the occasional glow of red in the moonlight when I was not careful enough. I used two daggers. Just two. Never guns, never anything else. I did not have a technologically advanced car, though I did have professional listening devices, etc. All made by Amy. "Call me in sick for the next week of work," I said. Joe was pretty lenient on it. Business only required one person working anyway. "I want to find out what's going on in this city."

After coming home and watching the news, a whole load of things had been going on because of a new criminally insane psycho called the Joker. I turned away from the computer screen that was currently flashing through all the convicts in every record we could find, trying to get a lead. I turned toward the television as a special broadcast came on. A man announced a graphic video that had been released by the Joker. Amy and I watched as the clip showed a man dressed as Batman being tortured by the made up criminal. I sighed. "So he's interested in torturing Batman into unmasking himself."

Amy crossed her arms. "There's a chance he doesn't know you exist."

"No one knows I exist," I said.

-xx-

"Good luck," said Amy as I tucked my brown hair under a black wig. I winked at her through my red mask. She had found the location of a mob meeting in the kitchen of an abandoned building in the city. I was going to head down there to try to find out where the stolen money from several banks has been going. If the Joker showed up, well that would be killing two birds with one stone. This was just as a favor to the D.A. in the town, Harvey Dent.

"Thanks," I said, sliding up the straps of my top. The entire ensemble was red. Amy and I had thought of the design together. Several nights a week while in school, I had taken special self-defense training classes. My body was as good of a weapon as any sniper rifle, just not from a distance. "If I'm not back by morning, you know what to do."

"Destroy all the evidence and plan your funeral," she answered. I nodded and opened the window that led to the fire escape. Climbing down it, I reminded her to lock the door and windows and keep the lights off. "Yeah, yeah, get going!" Amy cried back.

I ran as fast as I could downtown. I had memorized which way to go based on Amy's instructions and was desperately out of breath by the time I got to the place. It still looked abandoned, but I knew the kitchen was underground. I headed through a broken window and made my way down until I could see the lights on somewhere. Following them, I could hear a cold voice speaking.

"…uh, kill the Batman."

Laughter echoed throughout the place. Another man spoke. "If it's so simple, why haven't you done it yet?"

"If you're good at something, never do it for free." It was obvious this meeting no longer had anything to do with money.

"How much you want?" came the sound of a Russian accent.

"Half." More laughter. I did not even have to look in the room to know who this crazy bastard was. The mocking of the rest of the mob was enough.

"You're crazy," one muttered. Apparently these guys did not have a clue who they were dealing with. Probably did not watch the news too often. The Joker really was crazy.

"I'm not… No, I'm not." I heard the click as he put emphasis on the "t" at the end of the word. I stayed out of the room but kept listening, almost laughing, as the Joker seemed to piss off one of the mob bosses. "Let's not _blow_ this out of proportion."

The shuffling of chairs could be heard, and I peaked in the room. The Joker was backing up, toward my direction. I saw the string he had attached to his finger. He had several grenades hooked up to one wire. They would all go off if he pulled that string. "He's insane!" I muttered, backing up and running the opposite direction. Just as I turned the corner, I heard the swinging doors make an incredible bang as they hit the wall and rebounded. Then footsteps. I ran faster, trying not to make a sound. However, it was tile floor. He heard me.

His footsteps stopped. I stopped too, cringing against the wall. I heard shuffling, and then the sound of something hitting the floor. In the reflection of the metal on another door, I could see that he had tossed the grenades onto the ground. They were not even ready to explode.

Then I looked at his reflection. He was looking up, and I realized the side of my body was reflected on the metal as well.

I did not move, not until he moved. He stalked toward the door, and I bolted to my right, down the hall and up the stairs as fast as I could. Before I reached the top, a knife went flying past my left, sinking into the wall in front of me. I turned. The Joker was standing in the hallway about fifteen feet away. "The fact that you stopped running makes things a lot easier," he said. His lips curved, making the scarred smile on his face appear wider.

I pulled one of the blades from its sheath on the side of my belt. I walked back down the stairs toward him. "What are you after, exactly?"

He shrugged, obviously not taking this situation seriously. The Joker circled around me, looking at my physique up and down. "Well I'm open to changing targets now, I think," he said, pressing a gloved hand to my side. I sliced the back of his palm with the blade. He barely even blinked. "Feisty," he observed, bringing his bleeding hand back. I swallowed hard.

"I could kill you right now," I threatened.

He just laughed, or rather cackled, at me. "And I could do the same, Princess." I did not move, though I was nervous. I knew he had a gun, but I could not tell where he was hiding it. It would have been much easier to disarm him if I could. Nonetheless, he continued to circle me. "You know, I don't think I will. I have a previous engagement anyway." He began to back away from me, up the stairs where I was originally headed. He yanked the knife out of the wall and twirled it in his fingertips, then gestured with it to the back of his hand. "Though I will remember that, Princess."

-xx-

I shook my hair out of the black wig as Amy untied the back of my top. "Are you sure it was him?" she asked, bewildered that the Joker had just left me unscathed.

"How many guys walk around in a purple suit with green hair and war paint?" I said, raising a brow at her reflection in the mirror.

"I suppose you're right," she said. Amy left me to take off the top and grabbed her bag. "Anyway, I've got to get going. I'll be here at five tomorrow after work, and I called Joe for you."

"Thanks," I said, putting on a pink bathrobe. Like the Joker, I had a previous engagement as well. The famous Bruce Wayne was hosting a party, and he had personality invited me earlier that week when he stopped in for the usual coffee order with a lady friend. I had graciously accepted and pulled out a purple party dress and accessories for the occasion. After a shower, drying my hair, and the adding of some black eyeliner and purple shadow, I put on the outfit and shoes and- for once- took a taxi to the large penthouse. Presenting the invitation to the security guard on the first floor, he escorted me in the elevator all the way to the top, where I smiled and thanked him, walking into the party.

Despite the fact that I had a low class job, my parents had left me with quite a large trust fund that opened up when I was sixteen. Being able to hire my own representation for the law by then, I fought to be able to live by myself. I was granted to privilege and bought a beat-up apartment as a result. Everything was a precaution. If anyone were to find out about me being a masked vigilante at night, _I _would be the least expected, especially with all of the special equipment I used. Nonetheless, I knew absolutely nobody at this party. Until I ran into Alfred, who was serving drinks, I had no idea what to do with myself. "Good to see you again, Miss Jacoby," he greeted, offering me the tray of champagne.

I accepted the glass without hesitation. "You can call me Rose, Alfred," I smiled, sipping from the glass.

"I'm afraid I don't know you well enough for that yet, Miss Jacoby." The English accent said with a returning smile.

"So where's Bruce?" I asked, swirling the golden liquid in my glass.

"Oh, that should be him along now," Alfred responded, watching a helicopter fly in and land on the roof. Indeed, Bruce Wayne stepped out of it, followed by three pretty girls all dressed up. Alfred disappeared from my side, and I watched as the billionaire came inside and gave quite an enlightening speech about Harvey Dent. I realized then that he and Rachel were both there all along. At least I could socialize with them rather than walk around by myself now.

"To Harvey Dent; let's hear it for him," finished Bruce with others clapping for Harvey. I shook my head doubtfully and refrained from applauding. Seeing Bruce head outside and Rachel follow him, I went to greet Harvey. He looked just about as unsure of himself as I felt.

"Hello Harvey," I greeted with a smile. He immediately seemed to relax.

"Rosaline," he said with relief. "How are you?"

"Good," I answered, looking out at all the people and taking another sip of champagne. "A little intimidating, aren't they?" I asked, referring to everyone at the party. Harvey nodded.

"Yeah," he breathed. "I'd rather be facing the mob."

"Me too." I took note of the look that he gave me and realized that what I had said must have sounded strange. An awkward silence took place, and it only disappeared when Harvey excused himself to go find Rachel. I was left alone again. "Great party, Bruce," I muttered sarcastically to myself. "Next time I'm only accepting the invitation if I'm one of his three dates."

Suddenly I heard a loud gunshot. It came from inside the room, and I turned to face the center of it. My jaw could not have dropped further. _"I have a previous engagement anyway."_

The Joker had stepped out of the elevator, followed by a few cronies that had guns ready to fire in their hands. Why was he here? What business did he have here? I swallowed at the thought of him trying to find me. "I only have one question. Where is Harvey Dent?"

Though I breathed a sigh of relief, I still panicked. No one said a word, and he went around to people, intimidating them into telling him where Harvey was. When he got to threatening an elder man with a knife to the throat, I stepped forward. "He's not here."

I could see him tense up before he turned around to face me. "Well, well, who do we have here?" I stood my ground as he approached me. "Quite a pretty little thing." He circled me, and part of me wondered if he would recognize me, my stance maybe. "And do you happen to know where he is?"

He stopped in front of me, and I could see the glistening grease in his hair. "No," I answered smoothly.

The Joker pressed the knife against my lips as he held my neck straight. I caught a glimpse of the cut on the back of his gloved hand. My lips almost twitched. "You're stubborn, aren't you?" he asked, rhetorically. "I don't mind that. The harder you are, the more you shatter when you break."

"Okay, stop!" He turned away from me and slowly pulled the blade out of my mouth. Rachel was standing apart from the crowd now.

"So many beautiful women here tonight," he chuckled. Before he could make his way toward her, I kicked up my knee to hit as close to his groin as I could get. He only backed up a couple feet and cackled. Rachel came up to me and took my arm. "You two both have fight in you. I like that."

"Then you're gonna love me."

Rachel and I ducked out of the way as Batman kicked the Joker aside. Several of the henchmen went after him, and I struggled to lift up the side of my dress. I always kept one of my daggers in a holster attached to my thigh. Before I could grab it, though, Rachel was yanked from me, a gun put to her head by the Joker. "Let her go," I ordered, pulling out the dagger and approaching him slowly.

Several things happened quickly. I saw the Joker's eyes narrow at the dagger, as if he had seen it before (which he had). He shot the window so that it shattered and held Rachel over the edge. Batman appeared at my side suddenly. "Let. Her. Go," he demanded, but the Joker only laughed. I saw the "funny" side of the joke instantly and realized what he was going to do.

"Very poor choice of words." He dropped her. In a rush, Batman swooped out the window, sending glass shards flying. I looked away and stood off guard for only a moment, but that was all that was needed. "Hello, Princess." The Joker raised the gun and pointed it at my temple, threatening that if anyone got near, the floor would be painted with my blood. I swallowed hard and forced him to drag me into the elevator. "You aren't very good at keeping your identity a secret," he chuckled, holding tight to my hair. He put away the gun and brought out the same knife as before, pressing it against my neck. "What are you called? Batgirl?" He laughed at me and pulled me out of the elevator into a van that waited out front. A few of the cronies that were still conscious had followed us and got in as well. "I asked you a question."

I hesitated. "No one knows about me," I muttered. "I'm not called anything."

He nearly roared with laughter and threw me onto the floor of the back of the van. "Then no one will miss you." I tried to push myself back up from the floor, but when I looked back at the war-painted face, his gloved hand crumpled into a fist and was smashed across my face. I rolled over onto my back, falling unconscious from the hit.


	2. Broken

I felt the cold cement floor even before I was brought back to consciousness. When I was able to open my eyes, I was looking at the inside of a house. Though the place was extremely unfinished. The floor was still cement, the walls were not built completely yet, but there was furniture and a television. When I tried to sit up, I found that I was handcuffed to a metal pole. I jingled the cuffs and was noticed by the Joker and his goons, who were busy loading guns. "Well good morning, Princess," he greeted. He made his way over to me, and I shrunk back against the pole, as if I could disappear. Of course, I could not. He took notice of my movements. "Oh, so scared of me now? You were so willing to run me through with that little toothpick of yours before." He laughed and came closer still.

"Go to Hell," I muttered as he gripped my throat. It was more to hold my face still than to choke me. All it did was make him laugh more.

"I'm counting on it," he sneered. "But until then, I've got some business to take care of. I'll be back, though, don't worry." He cocked the gun in his hand and pressed it against my temple and brought his face close to mine. "Until then, you're going to be good and not do anything stupid. They have my permission to do whatever they want to you if you don't," he threatened, pointing toward two men who sat on the couch, separate from the two loading their weapons. As I got more nervous, my breathing became heavier. The Joker just pushed the gun harder against my head. "Understand, Princess?"

I tried to ignore him, even looked away and shut my eyes. When he took the gun away from my head and shot it at the ceiling was when I nodded after nearly jumping three feet away from him. "Yes," I whispered, daring to open my eyes again. He was just staring at me with raised brows. Then he nodded and stood up, placing the gun in the side of his jacket.

"Let's go boys," he said, leading the way out the door and slamming it shut. I swallowed and looked around for anything that could get me out of the cuffs. I tried to pull them, maybe loosen the cuff around the pole, but all that happened was the other one dug into my wrist. Tears began to gather behind my eyes. It hurt; only when I saw blood did I give up. I looked around more and stared at the two men on the couch. There had to be a way to distract them or get them to let me go. Of course it depended on whether they were more afraid of the Joker than they were attracted to me. But what did I have to lose?

"Hey!" I called to them. Neither of them moved. I sighed and rolled my eyes. Of course this was going to be harder than I planned. "Hello?" I shouted. Still nothing. "HEY!" Still neither of them moved. "WILL ONE OF YOU MORONS JUST GET ME A GLASS OF WATER FOR CHRIST'S SAKE?"

Finally one of them stood up. He stalked over to me and brought his hand across my face. "Shut up, Bitch!" he shouted before turning back around. Quickly, I brought my leg out in front of him, making him trip and fall on his face onto the cement floor. A smirk crossed my lips. He got back up and came toward me. My weak façade was over. With my one hand still cuffed to the pole, I kicked him in the groin so that he fell forward. Then my knee connected with his face, and he was knocked unconscious with a bloody and probably broken nose. The other guy ran over, and I quickly brought my hand up to punch him as hard as I could. It was not that hard, considering my left hand was not my dominant one. I kicked him in the groin as well so that he fell forward and brought my heel across his face so that he fell- knocked out cold- onto the cement. Reaching for the necklace that the second guy wore, I pulled it off of him. I was well trained in picking locks, and the shape of the pendant was just good enough for me to dig it into the handcuff lock. "Not very smart, are you, Joker?" I muttered to myself as the cuff clicked open. I stood up and held my bloody wrist tightly. It stung. I rolled over both of the men and took one of their guns, taking the other one apart and leaving it on the floor in pieces. Stumbling in my heels a bit, I began making my way to the front door. But then I heard a voice.

"Reed, Johnson, the boss wants a report." I stayed silent, not knowing what to do. It came from the inside of one of the men's jackets. "Reed? Report! Johnson!" I backed up toward the door quickly. Looking out the window of the house, I could see the van still parked outside, running. So the Joker had not underestimated me. He knew I was probably going to get out of a simple pair of handcuffs. I should have waited for the van to drive away!

"Fuck!" I shouted in a whisper. My eyes widened as the van door slid open. Sure enough, the Joker climbed out. I could see him muttering to himself, probably frustrated. Turning back around, I quickly looked around for any other means of escape. There was another window toward the back of the room, but it was bolted shut. I pulled off my heels and ran toward it. Quickly and as hard as I could, I slammed the heel into the window until it cracked and then shattered. Just then I heard the door open.

"Oh, Princess," came the Joker's voice in a singsong tone, followed by a load of bullets being unleashed from the gun in his hands. "Where are you?" Not wasting any time, I crawled out of the window, trying not to make sounds of pain as glass cut through my arms and legs and torso. I fell and rolled onto the grass that was still wet from morning dew. I must have been unconscious all night. Struggling to get up, I tried to run as fast as I could without slipping on the wet ground. "Well that's not playing fair!" I did not take the time to look back, even though I knew the Joker had seen me. I heard more shots fired and ran even faster to get out of his range.

It was not too long after that that I heard the screeching of tires on pavement. I ran, if possible, faster yet to try to get away. The house had been located just outside of the city, but I could see the police station just up ahead. If I could make it there, there was a slight chance that Harvey or Rachel would be there interrogating someone. Of course, I was competing with a vehicle compared to my bruised, cut up, and not to mention tired, legs. Still, the sound of gunshots followed by the Joker's cackle only made me want to speed up even more. I had fought many villains since I had started this whole charade, but there was something about the Joker that just all about creeped me out. Maybe it was the fact that he killed people for absolutely no reason, not because they would get in his way like others might.

I turned a corner, abandoning my chances of making it to the police station, and the screech of tires followed me. I could not run all the way to my apartment, not if they were following me. All that would do is lead them to where I lived. Where would I be safe? In the distance, I caught a glimpse of the large building that was the home of Bruce Wayne. If I could get ahead enough, the Joker would not find me there. People were already crowding the streets, anxious to get to work that morning. I could easily get lost in them, and I tried to do so. Getting as close to the buildings and as far away from the street as possible, I ran through the crowd, trying to be as invisible as I could in a vibrant purple dress.

I could still hear the van's engine as it continued up the street. But it was losing speed. The driver had lost sight of me. He was trying to find me again. I was sure that was what had happened. Taking advantage of it, I slowed down, breathing heavily and leaning against the brick wall of a building. I thought my lungs were going to burst. My throat burned, and I ached for food and water. Of course, none of the people passing me by paid attention to me. They were used to seeing strange things. A beaten girl running down the street in a dress was nothing. When I thought the van had driven far enough away, I glanced up, looking at where I was. Maybe I could just go home now if they had truly gone. But of course, that was not what had happened.

When I peered down the sidewalk at my left, I was shocked to see the van stopped by the curb. The men got out, followed by the Joker. People who recognized him began to run the other way. Despite the fact that I knew I had to run away too, I did not want to. I backed up a little, hoping I could just walk and that they would not see me. However, I locked eyes with the vividly green gaze, and I ran before I could see the blood red lips part into a smile. Shoving past people who were walking the other way, I was not nearly as fast as before. More gunshots, and the citizens of Gotham started to panic. They raced in every direction, and I only ran straight down the sidewalk.

"Well go get her!" I heard the Joker command. Footsteps were racing after me now, and I tried to gain speed. But before I could turn another corner, someone grabbed my arm forcefully. When I looked to see who it was, it was not the Joker, nor one of the men chasing me. It was a man who had been walking on the street.

"It's you he wants!" He shouted at me, making the connection of the chase. Out of realization, I began to struggle. Did he think that giving me to the Joker was going to get him off of the streets? Stop him from killing people? Just because he was given some girl?

"Let go of me!" I cried, trying to pry the man's fingers off of my arm. But he was too strong, and he threw me down onto the sidewalk. I landed on my back, and my head crashed down on the pavement. I sat up in time to see the man running away, but before I could get up, someone was pulling a fistful of my hair back.

"You know, you're going to cause me a lot of trouble," said the Joker, shaking his pistol in my face. One of the two men had my hair and was holding my head back, forcing me to look at the painted face in front of me. "But I can cause you trouble too." With that, the Joker brought a gloved fist across my face. I was jerked to the side, and blood mixed with saliva was forced out of my mouth onto the sidewalk. The two men pulled me up by my arms and dragged me back to the van, throwing me inside. I remained on the floor while the Joker took a seat, running his fingertips over his pistol.

"Why don't you just… kill me?" I questioned, breathlessly.

The Joker's eyes shifted toward me. I did not react as he pulled out his knife and pressed it against my lips. "Well first of all," he began, licking his dry lips. "Your face is just too pretty to carve up." He brought a gloved finger across my cheek. "But don't think I won't do it. And second, that would just be ruining the game."

-xx-

I had no choice but to sit still while the Joker tied my wrists behind my back with a cable tie. One of the other men stood there with a gun to me. He had been ordered to shoot anywhere that would not kill me. I did not move. While the early morning passed, the Joker and his men had parked the van once and gotten out, only to come back wearing uniforms. The Joker had wiped off his make up, and the cap he wore covered up his greasy hair. I had been unable to look away from him. It was so strange to see him like that. Besides the scars, he looked normal. It was shocking, and had it not been for his criminal actions, he would have been attractive.

I had shaken my head at those thoughts. I did not want to think about anything like that. It nearly made me sick. And now I sat still as a piece of cloth was tied around my neck. I did not want to look at the Joker. But nevertheless, he made me do so. Grabbing a handful of my hair, he told the other guy to leave and get in position. I wondered, position for what? But the Joker had his knife against my throat now, and I did not dare question what was happening. "Now Princess," he said, licking his lips. "You'll need to be good for me here. If you ruin this by possibly running away again, I will personally make sure that everyone gets to see your pretty face cut up like a Jack-o-lantern. Got it?" Trying not to show the fear that I felt, I nodded. "Good," he said, taking the blade away from my neck. I swallowed hard and waited for him to get out of the van. But he pulled my face close, with two fingers gripping my chin. "It would be such a shame to damage you," he said, speaking as if I were a piece of artwork in a museum. I did not react, not until he did something completely unexpected.

The Joker pressed his dry lips against the side of mine, more so that they were at the corner by my cheek rather than making direct contact. My lips parted, meaning to gasp in surprise. However, he took the opportunity to push the tied cloth up so that my lips closed down on it and I could not speak. Then he got out of the van and slid the door shut.

Trying desperately to sit up, I was just able to see out of the tinted window of the van. Outside of it, I could see hundreds of people gathered. The mayor was giving a speech today to honor someone. Who it was, I did not know. I looked around, trying to find the man who had just left me in the vehicle. When I caught sight of him, I could see what the uniform was for. He was disguised as a rifleman. I began to understand. Who was he here to kill?

The first shot was fired in the drill. I watched carefully as they cocked the rifles again and turned. The second shot was fired. Another call from the man at the end, and the line of men turned directly toward the mayor. I remained helpless in the back of the van as people scrambled to get out of the way of the gunfire. I could not see the mayor anymore, as he was knocked aside by a cop, I assumed. Sinking back down onto the floor, I looked around frantically. There was nothing I could do, though, nothing I could use to escape. What was I supposed to do? Even if I did get out of the van, I would either have to make it to Bruce's penthouse or get out of the city as fast as possible. Neither of my options had very good odds.

I jumped as the door slid open once again and two rifles tossed in next to me. I kicked the barrels aside; afraid one of the triggers might magically pull itself. There were several reasons why I never used guns. Still in the uniform, the Joker got into the back. I shifted into the corner, not looking directly at him. A younger henchman of his got in the front and immediately pulled the van away from the curb and down the street. There went the chance for my escape.

"Well that went well." Sarcasm was dripping from the Joker's unpainted lips, but he still looked oddly pleased. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him look over at me being huddled in the corner of the van. I did not look back. He reached over and yanked the piece of cloth out of my mouth, leaving it tied loosely around my neck. I licked my lips, which had become dry and chapped over the past day. I still yearned for food and water, but I kept to myself. "Cat got your tongue, Princess?"

I still looked away, ignoring him. I let my hunger and thirst take over my emotions. I was a definite fighter, a warrior. But for my entire life I had made sure I had eaten right and built enough strength to handle my fights. Having not eaten in a little more than a day, I felt more tired than I should have after being unconscious all night. My eyes were already drooping, but I did not want to give in. If I slept, I was more vulnerable than I was in a weakly conscious state. So I forced myself to talk. "No."

The Joker leaned back in the seat. "Well that's a shame."

I rolled my eyes and blew my dark brown bangs out of my face, turning away again and staring at the side of the van's interior. After about a minute, I was starting to feel exhausted again. But I did not want to talk, and it was clear that no one wanted to talk to me. I gave up. I was a kidnapping victim. I acted like one. Closing my eyes, I let myself fall asleep on the floor of the van, listening to it drive along the road. In such a short time, my hope was already running out. And to think that none of anything would have happened if I had not tried to crash the mob meeting.

-xx-

I cringed, crying out loudly as a load of cold water was splashed onto me. Sitting up abruptly, I gasped and coughed. After being able to open my eyes, I looked around, seeing that I was back in another building. Although this seemed more like a shabby, empty apartment. Again, it was unfinished. The paved floor only made me feel colder. I looked up to see the Joker standing above me with a plastic bucket that he immediately threw aside. "Glad to see you're up," he said. I was speechless, and I was freezing. Bumps rose on my bare arms and legs, and I tried to keep my mouth shut tight to keep my teeth from chattering. After about a minute of silence, I began to shiver. I could not stand up off the floor, for I was again handcuffed, though this time to a table. The table had been nailed into the cement. I glared at the Joker.

"W-what t-t-the h-hell are you d-d-doing?"

He sat on a wooden chair that rested against the opposite wall. "Well you were whining about water in your sleep," was all he said.

I brought my knees up to my chest. There was no way I could survive for long. He had deprived me of food, water, and now warmth and proper shelter. "What d-d-do you w-want f-f-f-from m-me?"

With his eyes only focused on me, the Joker shrugged. "Had a feeling you would be in my way if I didn't do anything about you. But you're still in my way, so it doesn't really matter."

I tried desperately to regulate my breathing. "P-p-please," I begged, pretending that I was a lot less pathetic than in reality. "J-just let me g-g-go. I won't t-t-tell anyone; I w-won't g-g-go to the p-police."

His chuckle rang in my ears as I shivered yet again. "Do I really look like the type of person who just lets people go, Princess?" He asked me, gesturing to himself with a gloved hand. "Well, alive that is?"

I did not answer. So that was his plan all along. He was just going to let me die anyway, maybe keep me cold and exposed enough that I would freeze to death. Or he was going to keep doing that until I begged him to just run me through with the knife in his hands. Whatever the reason, I sat there, crouched against the leg of the table, trying to render all of the body heat I had. And then I wondered about Amy. She was supposed to be at my apartment today. What would she do if I were not there? Probably call my cell phone and discover it was lost with my purse at Bruce's party. How long would it be before she or Bruce or Harvey or Rachel knew I was missing? I was called in sick to work for a week, and even if Joe noticed after that, I would probably be dead already considering my current living conditions.

"Look," he said suddenly, making me snap my head in his direction. "The only way I would ever let you live is if you stayed out of my way." I blinked, already going over my past words. "The problem is," he continued. "You're too stubborn to do that. You'll just keep meddling and meddling until you force me to blow your brains out onto the middle of the street." I swallowed hard. What was he getting at? "As I said before, the harder you are, the more you shatter once broken." He approached me then, getting off the chair and kneeling down next to me on the now wet floor. "So you know what?" he asked me, running his fingers through my soaked hair. "I'm going to let you live. And I'm going to do that simply because I'm going to break you."


	3. Returned

| The Joker |

He wished he could drive a knife into her. He wanted to. It would have been so easy! All he had to do was walk over to her right then and tear the blade through her flesh. He had done it so many times before, and that was usually during a struggle. This girl had let herself pass out yet again in his presence within fifteen minutes since his last threat. Of course, the amount of time had most likely felt much longer to her. A part of the Joker wondered why she had not begun to beg for food or water. Was she going to let herself starve to death rather than beg for something he would not give her? "Well have it your way, Princess," he muttered while she dozed. He still had not replenished the war paint that usually covered his face, had not entirely brought The Joker back out yet today. No, he would wait. The city was in a panic, and the authorities had turned their investigation toward locating him. Now was the time to rest.

Walking out of the room that was the girl's holding cell, he dropped his knife and gun on a table next to the door. The Joker rolled his eyes as two of his followers jumped on the couch they sat on.

The apartment was half-finished. The walls this room and most others were insulated, and the ventilation shafts ran nicely, despite where the Joker had the girl locked in. In there, the vents were closed and bolted shut, and the walls were not insulated. The cement floor of that room ended at the door and became wood on the other side.

"Get out," ordered the Joker to the two troubled young adults that sat before him.

"Where should we go, Boss?" one of them asked.

"Like I give a damn," the Joker retorted, and the men got out, not wanting to get on his bad side. He took their place on the couch and lounged, trying to decide what to do. Having already rattled the city and killed someone today, the Joker realized he was bored. And then he realized that he wished the girl would wake up. She provided entertainment for him, wallowing in her torture with self-pity, he was sure. So he sat there and waited.

A small clock that hung on the wall in front of him kept ticking. It showed the wrong time, of course, but the Joker could still tell how much of it was passing. The morning had gone into the afternoon by the time the girl had passed out. Now the afternoon was getting later and later. And still the Joker sat there bored; listening for a sound that would tell him she was awake.

| Rose Jacoby |

I did not know how much time had passed since I had lost consciousness yet again. However, the room was darker, and I was colder. My entire body ached from lying on the floor. Marks from the handcuffs had become engraved onto my wrists. My throat burned, and my eyes watered as I began to cough. It was the horrible kind that came from one's chest that sounded more like a large animal rather than a five-foot-four-inch girl. Rolling over onto my back, I knew I was sick. Being sick meant I was weak. Being weakened meant I was breaking, and that was just what the Joker wanted.

"How long do you think you can last?" came the voice I had become too accustomed to hearing. I did not answer right away as I looked up at him. He said he wanted me to break. What did that mean? As far as I was concerned, I was already broken or breaking. I told him I would not go to the police. I was sick and malnourished and dehydrated. But he seemed to want more. "Please," I finally said, my voice cracking out of dryness. "What else do you want me to do?" Now he did not answer me. The Joker only walked over to the wooden chair he had been sitting on earlier and turned it around, sitting backwards with his arms crossed over the back of it. I waited for him to say something, but he did not. Thoughts began to gather in my head. "You're just going to watch me and wait until I die." It was not a question.

-xx-

According to my ability to keep time in a dark, empty room, I guessed that it was another day or so that I was kept in isolation. The Joker would come sit in the room on the chair and watch me, but not say anything, even if I tried to get him to. I was no longer able to sit up on my own. Whatever my sickness was, it had gotten a lot worse. I fought hard to keep the contents of my stomach where they belonged, and my throat burned. I could not breathe through my nose, and my eyes itched terribly. Of course, I was unable to do anything about it because my hands had been kept cuffed to the leg of the table. My entire body was pale and covered with bumps from the cold. My hair was greasy, and so was my face. I was sure my eyes were bloodshot as well. There were even times where I considered just lying down on the floor and sleeping and sleeping until I died there. But I was too afraid.

Suddenly, during one of those times, the involuntary movement of my own body awaked me. I opened my eyes to see my wrists being released from the handcuffs, but I only blinked and closed them again, knowing it was just a dream. However, I was then lifted over someone's shoulder. I felt my hair fall in tangles over my head, along with my arms, which I could not move on my own. Deciding that maybe it was not a dream, I strained myself to listen.

"Where you want me to leave her, Boss?"

Silence, followed by what sounded like the loading of a gun. "Leave her outside of the hospital. On the ground."

Trying to lift my head just a little bit, I wanted to get one last look at the Joker. I wanted to take in every single detail of his face. When I dared to open my eyes again, the paint was back, and he was standing there facing me as well. He did not say anything, only raised his brows, as if waiting for me to speak. I did not know if I had any voice left in me, but I let it come out raspy and cracked anyway. "You could have just killed me." It was obviously not something he had expected me to say. I saw a twitch of his brows, and the scarred lips did not curl into a cruel smile. Nonetheless, he dismissed the henchman that held me, and I fell limp over the man's shoulder again.

After being tossed into the back of the van carelessly, I laid there facing the ceiling of it for what felt like hours, but I knew were only minutes. When I felt it slow, I waited for the door to slide open and to be dragged out and left on the pavement. Luckily, the guy was smart enough not to let my head drop first. However, my heels were dragged along the sidewalk, and I could feel them become scraped and start to bleed. I wanted to scream because it was painful, but I did not have the energy.

It was dark out. All I could see when I looked up was the black sky. Stars were invisible because of the city lights. If I were able to, I would have crawled up to the emergency room doors and checked myself in. However, I did not. Instead, I listened as a gun was fired from inside the van at the glass doors. When they shattered, an alarm went off. I turned to watch the van drive away. The guy had done it to alert the hospital that I was there. At least someone pitied me.

-xx-

"We need an I.V. and a Catheter for her now!" I heard the voice of a man shout. The loud noises that suddenly came rushing to my senses gave me an immediate headache. I could see bright fluorescent lights shining through my eyelids. It only made me feel worse. "Ma'am? Can you hear me? What's your name, Ma'am?"

I tried to focus on one of the doctor's questions at a time. When I tried to speak, I coughed, so hard that I could taste blood in the back of my throat. "Ro… Rosaline… J… Jacoby," I muttered, giving him my full name. Next he asked me what the year was. I told him. Then I told him the name of the President. And then I told him I was not allergic to any medication after he found out I lived alone and that my parents were dead. In turn, he told me what was wrong with me and what they were going to do about it. I had reached a fever of one hundred and four, suffered from malnutrition and dehydration, and my bladder had stopped working on its own because of all of this. In response to it, they were putting cold blankets on me to try to help the fever go down. I was being given a Catheter and two I.V.s as well. They said I would not have to try to eat anything until I genuinely felt hungry again. I nodded in agreement to everything, not fully taking it in until the next morning.

I woke up in the hospital bed with several different pills and a tall glass of water next to me. Even though I did not physically feel hungry, seeing the water was too much. I took the pills by twos so I could drink more of it with each. Draining the glass and swallowing the medication within a minute, I breathed heavily and leaned back. A nurse came in after that to check my vitals. She reported that- thanks to my good immune system- I had sweat out the fever over night. She gave me eye drops to deal with the swelling of my eyes and also told me to sleep. I was glad to do so, even willing to hug the flat hospital pillows.

After sleeping nearly all day, the same nurse came in to check on me again before she got off her shift. She knocked to see if I was awake, which I was, and after her came in four people. Just about the only acquaintances I knew: Amy Carmichael, Rachel Dawes, Harvey Dent, and Bruce Wayne.

"We've been looking for you for two days!" cried Amy when she walked in. Without directly responding, I accepted a hug from her. "Just glad you're all right, Rose."

"What happened to you?" asked Rachel. She and Amy sat down on either side of my bed while Harvey and Bruce stood at the foot of it. After the nurse left, I gave them an extremely brief explanation.

"I was kidnapped on my way home from Bruce's party, and I was kept in a room without food or water for three days, handcuffed to a table that was drilled into the floor."

Each of them looked at me as if I was insane, but that was the truth. When asked who kidnapped me I said I did not know. When asked if I was raped, I said no. If I was beaten? Yes. I told them that was all the information I could remember, which was a definite lie. The got the hint, however. I did not know if it was the fact that they literally thought I could not remember any more or that I just did not want to tell them. Nonetheless, they left after about an hour. Amy insisted that she start staying on the couch of my apartment until I fully recovered. I had originally been reassured that after a couple days in the hospital, I would be just fine, but she would not have it. "I can cook," she reasoned. "I'll help you get back on track with your eating and stuff." I could not argue with that, at least, not with the others there. So I didn't.

-xx-

"I have a disliking for wheelchairs," I said smilingly to the nurse that took me out of the hospital the day I was released. "I feel like an idiot."

"Hospital policy," she replied sweetly. "And you're not the only one."

She hailed a taxi for me to take me home. Luckily, Amy had brought me a change of clothes from my apartment. I now donned a t-shirt from my college days and a faded pair of jeans with the same purple heels I had worn to the party. The hospital had washed my dress, which I had folded in my hands along with my purse. Bruce had taken the liberty of giving it back to me. "Found it on the floor of the living room," he had said. I was glad to have my cell phone back, with a load of text messages from Amy about my whereabouts.

I thanked the nurse and told the taxi driver my address. Desperately, I wanted to get home. I could not wait to feel the comfort of my own bed. According to Amy, she had to work, but she did say she had brought me food for the day. There was not much I could do to refuse. She had been worried, and the least I could do was let her fret for a few days.

Staring out the window as the taxi pulled away from the curb, I watched as raindrops started to fall. They soon began to plaster the window, obscuring my vision of the city from inside the car. Once it slowed again, I grabbed the sufficient amount of money from my wallet to pay off the cab driver. Only when I opened the door to get out did he speak to me. "Have a nice day, Princess."

I stopped. The door was half way open, and I could feel drops of rain hitting my extended arm. Looking back at him, I swallowed hard. "W-what did you say?"

In the rear view mirror, I saw an amused look in his eyes as he switched his gaze to me. "Careful in the rain. Might catch a cold."

I felt my heart rate spike. I suddenly got out of the cab as fast as I could and ran into the apartment complex. Going in the two sets of doors, I went around the corner and waited until the cab drove away to go any further. Once it did, I walked a bit further into the building toward the elevator, pressing the button and waiting for it to get down to the first floor and open. I mentally relaxed when I saw that it was empty. Stepping inside, I pressed the button that had a worn down "5" on it and waited again. My fingers were clenching to my folded up dress without my permission. My purse was pressed against my side tighter than I had intended. By the time the doors opened again on my floor, I already had my apartment key out and in my hand. I could not have opened; slipped in, and slammed the wooden door any faster. "Thank God."

Immediately turning around, I made sure both of the locks were in place. Then, after dropping my purse and dress on the small table outside the kitchen, I went to lock all the windows and draw the curtains. I also turned on several of the lights throughout the place. When I reached my bedroom, I realized it was exactly how I had left it. Different dresses were thrown on the bed after I had tried them on to decide which to wear to the party. It already felt so long ago. I had actually become accustomed to becoming a mask-wearing criminal-punisher at night. So much so, in fact, that I always referred to my life as normal. But now everything seemed to have been flipped upside down. I was not normal. My life was not normal. The city I lived in was not normal.

I shivered at those thoughts and went back out into the kitchen. Amy had picked me up a grilled chicken platter from one of my favorite restaurants. She had bought me fries and soda to go with it. "So much for eating healthy," I said to myself, chuckling. Nonetheless, I picked up the food and started eating; sipping one of the cans of Pepsi Amy had stuck in the refrigerator. 'A bit of a treat for a welcome home present' had been written on a note that was taped to the can I went for.

It was already dark out when I had left the hospital, and it was about an hour after that by the time I finished eating. Wanting to go to bed but also giving in to a bit of obsessive-compulsive urges, I hung up all of the old dresses neatly and put away the accessories I had pulled out with them. My bed was now free of the contents of my closet. I went over to the dresser that sat with more clothes in the front of my room and pulled out a large t-shirt. After going back out and shutting most of the lights off except for one in the opposite hallway that let me find the bathroom if I needed to, I closed my bedroom door.

Crossing back over to the dresser, I pulled off my jeans and shirt, along with my bra, and then slid the baggy t-shirt over my head. When I shut off the light to my room and crawled into bed, it was one of the loveliest feelings I had ever felt. My bed could not have been more comfortable for my homecoming. I laid on my stomach and closed my eyes, welcoming sleep.

_Clink. Clink._

My eyes opened. I heard it. It was a small sound, but I heard it. I sat up in my bed and listened, listening for anything else. I heard nothing. Throwing the covers off, I stood up and went outside of my room into the hallway, turning on ever light as I went. Passing the living room and going into the kitchen, I flipped the switch on the wall to the right of me. It clicked on, and I saw my empty Pepsi can lying on the floor sideways. For a moment I just stared at it, trying to find a logical explanation for it being on the floor. I had pushed the can all the way back on the counter next to the sink. Or at least, I thought I had. Nonetheless, I through the can in the trash, no longer concerned about recycling it.

I took a deep breath, mentally telling myself I was crazy for being so paranoid. I did not allow my mind to draw other conclusions as to what may have happened. I would only leave myself not able to sleep, and after the week I had had, I really wanted to sleep.

But when I turned back around, all the lights were off again. The hallway that led to my room was dark, and so was the entire living room. I felt my fists clench. "_No,_" I thought. "_I__'__m__just__imagining__things.__I__'__m__making__myself__crazy._" I ignored the lights and went through the dark into the bathroom. Opening the medicine cabinet in it, I grabbed a small orange bottle with a pharmacy label. I had gotten the pills as a precaution for when I could not sleep at night. It was important for me to be able to do so. I had not had to take one in a long time.

I swallowed the tablet with a dose of tap water and then stood there, looking at myself in the mirror. I waited. I kept my focus on my face and my eyes until they started to droop. Once I felt myself get drowsy, I shut off the light and quickly crossed back into my room, shutting the door again. Getting back into bed, I pushed all of my thoughts away, only focusing on steady breathing and falling asleep. I did not allow myself to move and change position. I laid still until- finally- I felt the drifting feeling of a deep sleep approaching.

-xx-

Birds. I had not heard the pleasant sound of birds chirping in what felt like forever. The sun filtered into my room a bit between the drawn curtains on the windows, and I dreamily lifted my lids to see the morning had arrived. I was laying on my back already, and I stretched my arms out to wake myself up a bit, running my fingers through my hair as well. Then I rubbed my eyes, getting the sleep out of them so I could wake up. Bringing my feet down on the floor, I stood up and went to my closet. I would pick out clothes for the day ahead and then go take a shower and get ready.

However, when I lifted my hand to open the closet door, I could see black smudges on my fingertips. Confused, I rubbed my fingers and thumbs together. It came off with ease, but smudged a lot before doing so. "Make up," I observed to myself. That was odd. I did not remember putting on make up before I had come home from the hospital.

Suddenly I gasped. "_Make__up._" Flashes of the war painted face came through my mind, the way he looked at me and laughed while mocking me. The way his smile was enhanced by the red of his lips. And then finally, how he looked without it, and how the dry lips had pressed themselves against the corner of my mouth. I touched it, the exact spot, and brought my fingers down. White.

Running to the bathroom, I pushed the door open and let it hit the opposite wall with a loud bang. My hands began to shake, and my mouth opened in disbelief. I saw the white paint cover my face, replacing a regular foundation, the red stain my lips and corners of my mouth, and the black surround my eyes in a deadly looking mask.

I screamed.


	4. Games

"What the hell?" Amy exclaimed, walking into my bedroom and seeing my bed. I had tried to stop her from going on a cleaning spree of my apartment, but had failed. She lifted up the make up stained pillow and gave me a curious look. I just stared at it for a moment, having forgotten to wash the sheets and pillowcases.

"I… didn't get a chance to wipe off my make up last night," I said. It was a horrible lie, but it was half true. It _was_ make up.

"How much make up were you wearing?" she asked, seeming too flustered to notice my horrible excuse.

I avoided answering the question, hoping it was rhetorical. After I had woken up that morning, I searched my entire apartment with one of my daggers in my hand. No surprise, I found no trace of anyone there or having been there. I immediately got in the shower after that, making sure to lock the bathroom door just in case. By the time I was done and just had my hair dry, Amy was pounding on the door. I had not called her or anyone. I couldn't tell the police. What help would they be, especially since I wasn't willing to give up the identity of my kidnapper?

Now I shook my head, intending to clear my thoughts of paranoia and head to the bathroom to put on some real eyeliner and blush. But just as I was about to leave my room, I looked at Amy up and down. "That's the same outfit you were wearing yesterday," I observed, recognizing the blouse and black pants she had worn to the hospital. Amy also appeared not to have redone her make up. I quickly put two and two together, leaning against the doorframe and crossing my arms. She purposely tried to avoid my gaze as she stripped the bed. When she didn't respond, my eyes widened. "Walk of Shame Outfit!"

She immediately ran up to me and put a hand over my mouth, as if anyone would have actually heard me. Well, maybe someone might have, but I tried not to think about it. I was too amused. "Shut up!" she cried, finally pulling her hand away.

"Who was it?" I asked. "You came to visit me and didn't even tell me you had a date?" I started to ramble when she still didn't answer. "Or was it not even a date? Did you just pick up someone on the street? I mean you could have said something after bringing the whole crew to see me, even Bruce Wa-" I cut myself off. "You did not." She only stood there and stared at me, ready to cover my mouth again if I said anything too loudly. Still, I could not resist. "You _slept_ with _Bruce__Wayne!_"

"It's not like I meant for it to happen!" she immediately exclaimed. "He just invited me up to the penthouse, and what, was I going to say no? I was worried about you, and we were drinking. _I_was drinking!" she shouted as if it was unbelievable, which it kind of was. "And…I don't know!"

We stood there in a moment of silence, one in which I did not know whether to burst out laughing or shame my best friend. Oh, who was I kidding? "Was it good?"

She gave me a weird look after I asked, but soon took it back. I could see the pink color sneak into her cheeks. "It was amazing."

I only nodded my head with a smile on my face and finally left the room. "And you thought I was the flirt of the two of us."

"Shut up!"

-xx-

After standing in the kitchen for a while, I thought of an idea. I grabbed the can that I had thrown in the trash the night before and took it out into the living room. In the corner, Amy was working on my computer. There was a lot of technology stashed into my apartment in the strangest places. For example, a machine we used to analyze fingerprints was locked in a cabinet on the other side of the room. I got it out and grabbed some of the dust. Brushing it all over the can, I found all possible prints on it. "Ames," I called. She turned to me from the chair. "There's about fifteen different fingerprints on this can. I need you to see if there are any that aren't mine or yours."

She raised a brow at my request. "Why?"

Crap. I had to think of a reason. "'Cause I might need it." I didn't give any more explanation, but handed her the can and tape to get the prints off to scan. She shrugged and took it from me. "Oh, and hack into the entire city's birth records. You'll have more luck finding a match in there than the criminal records."

Amy was an expert hacker. She had an incredible talent for getting into top-secret files without even being detected. Usually when she tried to explain her ways to me, I got bored and stopped listening.

There was only a slight chance that there would be anything on the empty soda can. I recalled that the majority of the time the Joker wore gloves. But it was the only option I had to figure out who he was or where I could find him. I stood looking over Amy's shoulder, helping her get each and every print off the can and scan it into the computer. Then I sat there for at least a few hours next to her while we went through every single one, getting a hit on either her or me.

By the time we reached the thirteenth print we had found, I was ready to start slamming my head on the desk. "You'd think that going through everyone in Gotham would take less time than ten minutes to go through."

Amy snorted. "You're complaining about ten minutes? You're lucky we're not doing the whole state, or it would be at least four hours each."

I shrugged in reply and watched the screen as thousands of fingerprints zoomed by without receiving a match. I had helped Amy narrow it down to people twenty to thirty years old. I could feel my left hand leaving a mark on my face as she scanned in the fourteenth print. Both of us stared at the screen as other prints from every local hospital file for the appropriate people started flashing again. After Amy had grabbed a crossword puzzle from that morning's newspaper and I had rested my head in my arms on the desk, we heard the beeping of another "Match" sign. It was mine. "Last one," she said, grabbing the last piece of tape with a seemingly large thumbprint on it and scanning it into the computer.

I barely blinked as I watched the prints start appearing again. "Come on," I whined after about four minutes. Amy no longer looked down at the newspaper but up at the screen as well, perhaps as curious as I was. After another two minutes, though, we were back to our bored states. My head was on the desk now, and she had nearly finished the puzzle.

Suddenly, another beep sounded. I looked up at the screen, seeing the green letters that spelled out "Positive Match" again. However, I noticed the face was that of a young man's ID. He looked definitely younger than the Joker. It must have been an old photo, but it must have been a match. "Wow," I said, blinking and staring at the picture. The guy had brown hair and a small, mischievous smile. His eyes were a deep green and looked even more enhanced by the photo.

"He's attractive," Amy said plainly. My memory flashed to the war-painted sneer. I compared the two images in my mind, and could only nod.

We looked at the driver's license; only to see that it had been marked expired for about five or more years. It made sense, but it was still unbelievable to me that we had actually found a hit. "_You__'__d__think__he__would__have__blown__up__the__only__place__that__still__had__record__of__him._"

Suddenly Amy breathed in. "He looks familiar."

I turned toward her as if she were crazy. "_Yeah,__because__he__'__s__the__Joker__who__can__'__t__resist__showing__himself__on__a__video__camera__every__time__he__commits__a__crime._" "You think so?"

Then she asked me the most peculiar question. "Do you have your high school yearbook from our sophomore year?" I could only stare at her for a moment, not liking at all what she was hinting at. No way. That was too much for me. "Well?" she pressed.

"You're not serious," I said, still staring.

"Yes, I'm serious, go get it!"

I stood up from the chair and walked into my room, not knowing what to feel as I pulled my old yearbook from the shelves. It was extremely dusty, having not even been opened in almost nine years. "Here," I said, handing it to Amy. She peered at the screen, seeing how to spell his last name. On the inside, somewhere, the name sounded familiar too. So did his unscarred face, but I did not want to accept it.

"Jack Napier; class of 1999."

Sure enough, on the page in the midst of the senior pictures, there were the bright green eyes staring back at the both of us. The brown hair was nearly exactly the same as the driver's license photo, and so was the closed smile. I took the book from her and stared at the picture, suddenly wishing I had more vivid memories of high school. He was hot. He was a senior. This automatically made him a target for a ton of girls in the school. Did that include Amy and me? No, not that I could remember. "Did we know him?"

She shook her head. "No. I think I would remember if I ever had even five seconds worth of talking to _him_ in high school."

I could not help but smile a bit, despite the circumstances. "You were popular in high school, Ames."

"Yeah, only because I was your best friend."

"Well, I was only popular because I made the Varsity Girls' Track team as a freshman," I reasoned, keeping the yearbook open on my lap and staring back down at the page.

"Oh, please, you were a superstar, and you know it," she retorted.

I rolled my eyes. "Well now that I think about it, we could have chosen a lot better people to hang out with back then."

She nodded behind me. "Yeah, I'm glad we never have to see any of them again."

"Well, not until the ten-year reunion."

-xx-

Amy left my apartment at around seven o'clock that night. She made sure the virus she had planted to get the hospital files was untraceable, then she deleted all the evidence and shut down the computer after printing out the license we had found. I sat down on the couch with both that piece of paper and my high school yearbook. I flipped through all the pages and found my picture. I had dyed my hair blonde as an experiment that year and had worn the most make up out of any other girl I knew, especially Amy. I recalled being a nice person, but I was always obsessed with my appearance, save for when I would run in a meet for Track & Field. I sighed as I shut the book again. Tapping my fingers on the side of the couch, I began to think.

Making a quick decision, I got up and went to my room to the wardrobe. At the very bottom of one of the middle drawers, I pulled out my red top and bottoms, along with the mask. At the top of my closet on a hidden shelf, I pulled down the black wig and red boots that went along with the façade. Normally I would have Amy there to help me put on my microphone and everything to keep in contact with her. However, I was sure that the only equipment I would need were my daggers.

After getting dressed, I went down the fire escape into the back alley. I did not know where I would go, but I figured anywhere that I heard police sirens would work. I ran from my apartment building through back streets toward the police station. What surprised me was the black bike I recognized at Batman's. What was he doing there? I crept over to the side of the building and was about to turn the corner when the main door of it was forced open and slammed into the opposite side. Looking around the corner, I saw Batman riding away down the street. He was followed by at least a dozen or so cops filing into police cars. I recognized Gordon and called to him. "What's going on?"

"Where the hell have you been?" he asked me. Obviously I had not been around as often as usual, since I normally showed up at around the same times Batman did. I did not answer the question, so he kept talking while rushing toward a cop car. "Harvey Dent and Rachel Dawes are in danger. We're going after them, and we got the Joker in custody."

"You what?" I shouted as sirens started to wail, but he didn't answer, only had the car speed off down the street. I looked back at the police station and then at the police cars creating distance between themselves and me. I shook my head, trying not to be concerned about Harvey or Rachel. I opened the door to the police station and went inside, making my way past the cells. Catcalls and whistles followed me as I approached a cop, who told them all to shut it. "Where is he?" I asked.

Even he couldn't resist looking at me up and down. "Interrogation."

I rolled my eyes and went to the room. I couldn't believe it when no one was watching through the double mirror. One officer stood inside the room with him, and he was rolling up his sleeves and going toward the psychopath. "Damn it," I muttered and immediately went to kick the door in. It obviously surprised them both. "You're needed by the holding cells," I informed the detective. He looked confused, but nonetheless went out of the room. I slammed the door after him and jammed a chair under the knob. The Joker sat on the floor against the wall, looking more relaxed than anything.

"This getting one phone call thing _does_ exist, doesn't it?" he said, sarcastically. My expression was indifferent, but it changed into a small smile.

"You know, that was a pretty big stunt you pulled," I said. "In my apartment last night."

He chuckled and looked over at me. "You really do look good in make up, Princess."

I nodded in fake agreement, humoring him for a moment. "You know something," I began, waiting for him to glance up at me with a sneer. I grabbed a folded piece of paper that I had in the back pocket of my pants and flattened out the picture of the expired driver's license. "You looked really good in high school, _Jack._" His expression went rigid. I had him. I stood over him and dropped the paper, letting it float down into his lap. "You left your finger print on that soda can last night, Darling."

I had no idea what he was going to say. After all, what could he say? No, he did not speak. Instead, he held the paper in his hand. When I thought he was finally as broken as I had been, my legs were kicked out from under me. I felt my back and then head slam onto the tile floor. My own dagger was drawn from its sheath on my side and pressed to my neck. "You think you can play games with me?" he shouted in my face.

I did not act afraid, even though I was. "Yeah, Jack, and I think I'm winning now. You try to break me, and I'll break you!"

Even more, he pressed the dagger against my neck. "Break me?" He cackled a laugh. "You know I remember you back then, Rose; pretending to be such an innocent little running star when in reality you were sneaking around behind Mommy and Daddy's backs even before you entered that school!"

That caught me off guard, so much so I ignored the fact that he had just called me a slut. "You… You knew me?"

He laughed again. "Who didn't know you? How often did I walk down the halls hearing about how guys wanted to sneak behind the bleachers with you?" I was speechless, unable to say anything, partially because I was so embarrassed. He had suddenly turned my victory against me. But I knew how to turn it back around.

"And what about you?" I retorted. "You always go around telling people how you got your scars. I'll bet it was just a cry for attention because Daddy was too busy getting hammered while Mommy snuck around with other men!"

He brought his fist across my face, and _hard_. Standing back up, he kicked me several times in the ribs, shouting at me with a deep growl I had never heard before. "DON'T. TALK. ABOUT. MY. MOTHER. LIKE. THAT!"

The breath was entirely knocked out of me by the time he was done, but I swung my body around and tripped him, the same way he had done to me. He tried to clamber up, but I did first and tackled him back onto the tile floor, face first. My dagger slipped from his hand, and I took it back. "What are you going to do about it, huh?" I screamed, having to put my weight down on top of him to hold him there.

I thought he was going to be insanely angry, but he only started to laugh. "They're dead by now," he mused.

I froze. "What?"

More laughter. "The famous DA and his pretty little bunny." I was breathing heavily, but his words had caught my attention. "Blown to Hell," he continued, cackling madly. It took me a moment to realize blood was leaking from my mouth from when he had hit me. It began to drip onto the back of his shirt, but I ignored it and turned him around on the floor, intending to beat him as much as he had beaten me. I hated him. I wanted him to suffer, suffer like he made me. But he only looked up at me with an amused smile, and I suddenly could not even move. He grabbed a strap of my shirt and pulled me down closer to him. "You know, we barely know each other, Princess." He was referring to our current position. I was on top to keep him on the floor, and I was straddling his waist as well. My ability to move came back. I stood up immediately and aimed a kick between his legs. It knocked the breath out of him, and he lay crouched on the floor while I threw the chair aside and walked out of interrogation. When I approached the other detective to tell him to go back inside, I only saw a group of cops surrounding someone in one of the jail cells before I was blown backward into the opposite wall. I cried out loudly as my head hit it. Rubble and papers were flying everywhere, and I coughed roughly from the dust that had gone into my mouth.

There was a bomb implanted somewhere; I realized that soon enough. Trying to stand without getting dizzy, I was roughly grabbed by the shoulder. My black wig was pulled off and thrown away, and my brown hair fell down along my sides. I forced the Joker to drag me out of the police station, even trying to struggle and pull away from him. However, the bomb had messed with my senses, and for a while I did not know which way was which.

I was then shoved into a car, a police car. The Joker sat in the back seat next to me, and he told the driver to go. The normal caging between the convict and the officers had been torn out, and the Joker was handed a gun. "You could have called the number a little sooner," he said sarcastically. No wonder he had given up the phone call bid. He had a backup plan. I tried to get rid of the pounding that remained in my head while the Joker took the cell phone from the driver. He dialed a number and then held it to his ear while he waited for the other end to pick up. "Evening, Commissioner," he said. "I believe that it's now one hero down, two to go."

As I was leaning against the window, I felt my arm being pulled. The Joker yanked me closer to him so that I was forced to lean against him for support. He put the phone on speaker and held it up to me, pointing the gun at my temple. I swallowed hard. "Gordon," I muttered. "He won the game."


	5. Crazy

Inside the stolen police car, my head slowly started to clear. Though I was pretty sure the blast and a blow to my head from the south wall had given me a slight concussion. Maybe that was why it was so hard for me to regain my sight and sense of what was happening. It was not until the siren of the stolen car started to ring in my ears. The Joker had rolled down the window. I furrowed my brows in frustration, feeling a migraine start to occur at the loud sound of the wind rushing by the car. I wanted to push him out of the window and off of the side of a cliff. But of course, this was not realistic. The driver would probably kill me if I did (though I was sure I could take on such an amateur). Also, there were no cliffs around.

And something else.

A part of me had begun to wonder- while back in the hospital- if killing him would give him the satisfaction I wanted. I no longer thought so. Besides, I was sure that part of the Joker wanted to die, and the last thing I was going to give him was what he wanted. So pushing him over a cliff was out of the question.

"Sometimes I wonder why you stay in that apartment, Princess."

I turned to see the Joker back inside the car with the window rolled back up. That was one of the most random things he could have said, and it made me listen. "Why?"

He shrugged while twirling the cup of his gun and loading more bullets into the empty slots. "Because I know where you are. Most people would have packed up and shipped out. I don't let many people live, you know."

I looked away again, out the window. "Maybe it's because I'm not afraid of you."

He surprised me by laughing hysterically. "Okay," he said, in between chuckles. "What a little liar you are, Princess." He pressed the clip back into the gun and held it in his lap, pointed at me. "We go over one bump, and I accidentally pull this trigger; Gotham has one less citizen to worry about."

I eyed both him and the gun suspiciously and now said nothing. I could him frown at me when I gave no response, but what shocked me the most was that he immediately pulled the trigger.

The bullet shattered the window in a spot where my head had been resting seconds. I yelped and pushed away from the window, unknowingly moving even closer to the Joker. I flicked my wide eyes toward him. "What the hell was that for?" I shouted.

He shrugged. "To prove a point." He did not look at me this time, only straight ahead, remaining in silence until the car pulled up outside a different apartment building than I remembered. "Two-fifty-fifty-second Street," he said to the driver. "Make sure the job is done."

I was confused but let him yank me out of the car anyway. "What's on Two-fifty-fifty-second Street?" I asked, curious.

"Oh, nothing for you to be concerned about, Princess," he sang. I frowned; why had I even thought he was going to tell me?

Once inside the building, he dragged me into the elevator and jabbed the button with the gun in his hand. I sighed, knowing I had several chances to get away. However the gun still intimidated me. I had a feeling that if the Joker really intended to kill me, he would not miss. And if I ran, then he would have the intention of killing me. I looked up at the elevator's camera, wondering if anyone was watching on the other side. I imagined that if there were, the Joker would have shot the lens or something. I used my thoughts as a distraction from the current situation. A madman was holding a gun to my waist while we stood in an elevator. Alone.

| The Joker |

He could feel her start to shake. That was good. She was afraid. She was controllable. Once the elevator doors opened, he pulled her out and looked around. It was not as if an abandoned building would suddenly become flooded with people while he was out, but one never knew.

The Joker knew of several places like this; shabby apartment buildings with furniture and working utilities. His cronies paid to keep these things for his use. Why? He never figured that part out, but he also did not care. They were of use to him, whether the original owner was still alive or not.

Kicking open the door, he stopped and stared at the two men asleep on the couch for a moment. Giving a fake sigh, he pointed the gun in his hand up to the ceiling. The girl jumped when he shot it. The two on the couch immediately aimed their guns at the Joker, but drew back when he raised his eyebrows at them. They left the place, already knowing a job to be done.

"Don't worry, Princess," he said, letting go of her. "I'm not gonna lock you up this time."

Almost without missing a beat, she asked, "Why?"

He chuckled in response. "Because you won't run. You know you won't, and I know you won't." He threw the gun down on a table and took off the deep purple jacket, tossing it onto the couch. "Just be a good girl, and I won't have reason to pick up that gun again today." He was amazed at how well that threat kept working. Still, he knew she would not run. If she knew it, then it would be because she thought he would kill her. But in reality, it was more than that. The Joker would _not_ kill her, in fact. He did not think that he could. No, there was a bigger reason why he knew she would stay, why he would _make_ her stay if she didn't. It was sick, and it was definitely crazy, but it was true.

Then again, maybe this wouldn't turn out to be such a problem. The Joker left the girl and went into the apartment's bathroom. His painted face stared back from the mirror. _"__You__'__re__insane,_" he thought, moistening the dry, red lips. "No, I'm not."

| Rose |

I watched him leave with a feeling of defeat as he did so. Was I really that much of a coward to try not to run away? "_No,_" I thought. _"__Because__then__I__would__have__to__leave__Gotham._" I knew I could never do that. Why I couldn't was not as clear. I just had an attachment to the place- more now than ever before for some reason. I never wanted to leave.

I turned toward the television that sat in the middle of the room. The two men had left it on before they had gone, and a special news broadcast caught my attention. "…looking for the body of Rachel Dawes at the scene. Gotham's District Attorney, Harvey Dent, has been rushed to the hospital with reports of severe burns."

My heart caught in my chest. Rachel and Harvey? _"__Body?__Burns?__"_ Where the hell had I been when this all happened? Of course I was devastated when I heard, but I was curious. This had just become a giant puzzle.

"…Two-Fifty-Fifty-Second Street, where the explosion supposedly killing Rachel Dawes occurred. Avenue X, we're told, was the other location, and I'm sure we all wish Harvey Dent a quick recovery."

That was it. "That can't be it," I muttered to myself. Did the police really not have any leads? Was it really that hard to think of someone who would turn to explosives and watch Gotham burn to the ground piece by piece? I turned toward the closed bathroom door, where I heard bath water running. _Two-Fifty-Fifty-Second__Street.__Make__sure__the__job__is__done__…_

Turning around to face the kitchen, I saw the gun lying on the table. I looked back toward the bathroom and sat there for a moment. I felt as if he would come out wielding a knife the second I moved off the couch. However, I got up anyway. Walking over to the table, I took the gun in my hand. It felt abnormal; odd to be holding such a weapon. I could handle a knife, but that was not enough. He had been touched and scarred by a blade. He did not fear them.

Suddenly, I heard the water turn off. I rushed back to the sofa and shoved the gun in between two of the cushions just as the door opened. And there he was. Not the Joker, but an older Jack Napier, with a fair complexion and brown hair, not green. The scars were faded against his cheeks for the most part but still had a hint of the same pink color as his lips. And he had _muscles_. They were thinner, but there were definite lines and creases splitting his abdominals evenly into four different parts. His arms contained the curved biceps I had not expected. And then I was brought back to high school. I would run past him at a track meet, not knowing the stunning green eyes had been watching. I smiled at him in the halls, only knowing what other girls had told me about Jack. _He__doesn__'__t__date;__thinks__he__'__s__too__good__for__all__of__us._ I did know him, more than I thought I had. And he knew me, knew me just as well as he knew himself.

But even despite that, he did not know I was hiding something. He walked behind the couch and placed his hands on the back of it, leaning down next to me. "You know," he muttered into my ear. "Even crazy people believe in hygiene."

I felt warm embarrassment fill my cheeks, realizing I had stared at him longer than necessary. I turned slightly around to face him, grabbing the gun by its holster beneath the cushions. "What happened at Two-Fifty-Fifty-Second Street?" I whispered. His smirk faded.

"I told you not to be worried about that, Princess." Already, I could see the differences between Jack and Joker. His voice was just a hint lighter when he spoke to me now. It made me not want to point the gun at him. I hated the Joker, hated him for destroying the lives of the people around me and my own. But what about Jack? I had nothing against Jack. But were the two the same person? They were. I knew that, and that's what made me aim the gun.

"You killed her," I accused. "And blew Harvey nearly to Hell too."

At first, he didn't say anything, only placed his hand around mine on the gun, forcing me to hold onto the trigger. "Do it, then," he ordered. "You hate me for it. Do it." When I heard that, I remembered why I could not kill him.

"You want me to," I replied. It was not a question.

"I want you to," he repeated, the smirk coming back. Now I was confused. Did he really want me to? Was he just saying that because he knew I wouldn't do it?

"It's the only way to stop you," I reasoned, my voice cracking as frustrated tears swelled up behind my eyes.

"Probably," he replied, shrugging a bit. If his grip had not been so tight on my hand, it would have been shaking.

"You'll kill me if I don't," I whispered. One tear slid down my cheek, and that was all I allowed. But after that, he did not respond. No witty comebacks or confusing remarks followed my fear. Instead, he took the loaded gun away from me. Standing up straight again, he took it apart and dropped the pieces to the ground, one by one.

"Like I said, it would be such a shame to carve up that face." Jack's thumb and index finger grasped my chin. I was forced to look up at him.

When I felt it, I did not know what was happening. It took a long moment for me to realize that Jack's lips were touching mine, and that I had leaned up to reach him. And when I did, I wanted and didn't want to pull away. It was wrong; wrong on so many unbelievably crazy levels. But I still did it. I kept doing it too. His hand went from grasping my chin to holding the side of my neck. His free hand curved around my back so it arched forward a bit.

And then it turned rough. He pressed his lips slowly harder against mine and forced them apart as well. I was losing my breath faster, and his hand was starting to clench around my neck. I brought my hand up in sudden alarm to make him realize what he was doing. His grip slacked, but I wanted to pull away. He was taking the breath away from me, and so I turned my head and tore my lips away. And yet his still stayed, leading a trail down to my neck and shoulder. I let him. I let him hungrily watch my chest rise and fall. I even let him kiss me again after my breathing became steady once more.

Then a sudden pounding at the door startled me. Jack pulled back with a smirk on his face and went toward the door without a word to me. "What?" he shouted.

"Ready to go, Boss?"

He sighed then picked up the jacket from the couch. Sliding it over his shirtless torso, he winked at me. "Can't look like a clown when going into a hospital," he said. "Be good, Princess."

And then he was gone, but I could still feel the imprint of his lips and the touch of his hands. I slumped down onto the couch and folded my knees up to my chest. He had killed one of my only friends and nearly killed another. And instead of killing him in return, I had kissed him. And I had kept kissing him. And I had liked it. What the hell was I doing?

An hour passed; maybe two, and I was restless. I was angry, devastated, confused, and worried. I was stressed and pacing. It had started after I realized the window to the fire escape was bolted shut and the door was somehow locked from the outside. Obviously, despite his words, the Joker knew I would try to run anyway. Especially without anyone there to watch me. He would have at least been saving me the trouble of getting onto the street and then not knowing what to do. And that was what I had been doing for the time I was left alone. I sat in front of the quiet TV and thought about everything. Mostly of how I had gotten myself wrapped up in this. My damned curiosity. If I had left that mob meeting about thirty seconds earlier, I would have been on the street before the Joker had even stood up from the table. But then again, a small part of my mind continued to nag about the fact that I didn't mind all of this. I hated it. I was almost in the midst of beginning to talk to myself when I heard a pair of footsteps. They came from the hallway and stopped at the door. I left the TV on and ran into the next room.

"Don't pull that shit; he'll be back soon," one man was explaining to another.

The other one laughed. He wore a large jacket, black boots, and jeans. The first wore something similar, but with no shirt under the jacket. "Come on," the second said. "You really think he'd care if we at least got a look at her?" I then realized they were talking about me. He was looking around the apartment, and I met his eyes as he looked at the crack where I hid between the door and the wall.

"He would," came a third voice. I shocked myself by breathing a sigh of relief. He was back. The two men immediately started to explain, but he just pointed a gun at them. "Go on," he ordered, gesturing out to the open apartment door. They quickly left, not underestimating the willpower of the Joker's eager fingers on the trigger. When the door closed, he put the gun down. "You can come out now."

My cheeks flushed red. He knew everything. I stepped out of the bedroom, but he said nothing. Instead, he walked past me to the window with the fire escape outside of it. "I'm surprised you didn't just break it."

I only blinked. Was I really that stupid? "Figured you might have just blown up the place if I did," I muttered spitefully.

"No need to mouth off, Princess," he replied without changing his tone. I clenched my jaw tightly to prevent myself from saying something that would really piss him off.

I heaved a sigh. "So why such informality now? Are we past the chains and starving me to death?"

He retorted without missing a beat. "Oh, we could go back to that if you'd prefer. It would sure make it easier for the other men to get to you." Now I couldn't tell if he was kidding or not, so I said nothing. He faced me in response to the silence. "Why so serious, Princess?" he asked with a brush of his hand against my cheek.

I thought he would kiss me again. I refused, at the time, to believe that I longed for it. But he just walked away toward the bathroom again. So I called, "I don't know. You tell me, Jack."


	6. Twisted

"Time to go, Princess," he said, grabbing my hand. I was forced off the back of the couch and nearly crashed into the Joker as he clipped something around my wrist. It felt like a pair of handcuffs, but he only attached it to my right hand. "Now, see this here?" The thick, black, plastic bracelet was held up to my face. I didn't answer him because it was obvious that I could, in fact, see it. "This would be a normal house arrest bracelet had it not been wired to explode the second it ranged too far from a certain location." With his free hand, Joker held open a side of his jacket, which held a blinking piece of plastic tucked into the breast pocket. I stared at it in realization. "That's right," he said, a sly grin forming on his red lips. "You step more than fifty feet from me, and your insides will be splattered all over whatever floor and walls we happen to be near." I noticed now that Joker liked to talk with his hands. He demonstrated with them just how the explosion would go while he explained. "Understand?"

I could do nothing but nod. There was certainly no way out of that. Now that he had the instrument locked around my wrist, I had practically no choice but to stay as close to him as possible. I felt as if the fifty-foot distance was decreasing every second that passed. By the time he let go of my wrist, I felt as if stepping one foot away would trigger it. Of course, Joker expected me to automatically follow him out of the apartment, which I did. "Where are we going?" I demanded, nearly jogging behind him. I still wore my red outfit that I had interrogated him in the night before. It was dirty from the explosion at the precinct, and I wished I had a different pair of clothes. Then again, no one knew me, which meant no one knew my outfit, unlike Batman.

"Taking you on a little field trip," he actually answered while loading a gun when we hit the hallway. Though he didn't look back at me. He didn't have to. I would follow him the whole way, even when we got to the van, where I had crouched in the corner what felt like such a long time before this. I sat on the floor again, but this time in the middle of the vehicle, keeping my eyes away from the three other men in the car. There was the driver, one in the passenger seat, and one sitting across from Joker, who sat beside me on the seat against the wall. I was in the center of all of them, and I kept my head down, hoping none one would speak to me. I was wrong, of course. "Put this on."

I glanced up at the nurse's uniform being held out to me by Joker. Where he had gotten it from, I did not know. Why would I need that? I was about to ask when I realized he meant put it on _now_. In the van. With the three other men in the car. As if I wasn't thinking that changing in front of him would have been bad enough. I opened my mouth to object, but he shushed me and only shook the uniform in my face. I glared as much as I could toward him, but tightened my jaw and took it from his gloved fingertips.

Sitting up on my knees, I undid the straps of the top and unlaced the back as best I could. It was something that normally Amy did. The corset inside was made of a hard material that helped protect against blades and smaller bullets. It was a necessity, which is why I had it and took the time to do and undo it. Still, it was a chore by myself, and I struggled to keep my eyes on a shell casing that was rolling around on the floor as we drove. It distracted me from the men turned to watch me change clothes. When I went to slip the nurse's uniform over my head, Joker stopped me. "Uh, uh," he said, gesturing to my red pants with a fully loaded gun. I hesitated, looking into his staring green eyes. His brows rose, and I slid off the pants in response. As soon as I did, the van jolted forward, and I was thrown against the back doors of it with a yelp.

A mad cackle followed it, and I flinched as the Joker grabbed my left wrist and jerked me back forward. I was still without the majority of clothing, and his amusement had never been higher. Tears of humiliation began to form behind my eyes, and I only stared at the wandering shell case while I pulled the nurse's outfit over my head. "Leave it," he ordered me when Joker was finally able to maintain a straight face again. He was referring to the three buttons at the chest. I had lifted my fingers to do them, but let my hands fall back into my lap when the barrel of the gun was pointed in my direction again.

I didn't understand. He was going back and forth in flaunting me to the men that followed his orders. In the beginning, they could have done as they wished. Then he didn't want them to go near me. Now he was letting them witness a free show. I felt sick to my stomach for several reasons. A few of them bothered me. Of course I was embarrassed at being seen as a piece of meat for them to drool over. But another reason was letting him, the Joker, see me exposed like that. It was as if I wanted to impress him, show off to him everything I had to offer. It was sick, but I would have admitted it. And he seemed quite satisfied afterward, paying no attention to me after that until the van pulled over to a curb behind a rather large building, at which point he said, "Out."

I did as he said and clambered out of the van, pulling the nurse's uniform as far down as I could around my legs. It was baggy, but it was still shorter than I expected. When I stepped out onto the sidewalk, I saw the sign that stood at the entrance to the parking lot. We were at Gotham General Hospital. Now the outfit made sense. "Now look here, Princess," Joker started, grabbing my arm and pointing the gun up at the building. "All hell is ready to break loose in there, which probably makes your job a lot easier." He pulled the blinking piece of plastic out of his pocket and clicked it. The red light suddenly turned green. "You're free to walk as far away as you need to now to get me into that building undetected. I have a friend I need to speak to, so you're going to go in there and let me in through the roof access. Got it?"

I nodded. What else could I do? If I took too long getting him inside, he might decide to blow the bracelet. I had no choice. And sure enough, inside the parking lot were police vehicles of all sorts, along with a whole line of school buses. Patients from every ward were gathering on the pavement and being transported away from the place. I knew an evacuation when I saw one, but while in the nurse's gown, no one stopped me from rushing back inside the building.

Other medical staff hurried past me, along with police officers. None of them even bothered to see if I was legitimate or not. I followed sign after sign and jogged up countless stairs to get to the roof. It didn't take too long, though, since the building was almost entirely abandoned. When I finally saw the door to the roof, I threw it open in case the Joker thought I had tried to skip out. Sure enough, as soon as I did, he stuck the plastic device back in his breast pocket, the red light blinking once again.

"Good timing," he said with a grin. I said nothing in return, only let him grab my arm and lead me back down the stairs until we got to a wing not far away from Intensive Care. Joker kicked open a few swinging doors and led me into a room that was still occupied. I gasped and froze at whom I saw.

Harvey Dent looked up from the bed sheets he had been staring at seconds before. His hands were cuffed to the bed handles, and his fingertips had just stopped picking at loose strings on the sheet. I stared in horror at the rotting and burned flesh on one side of his face. I barely paid attention as the Joker spoke to him until he gestured to me. "Oh, I believe you two know each other," he marveled with a bit of mocker in his voice.

"Rose," Harvey began. This was the first time he had used my nickname. "What are you doing here, with him?"

It took me a moment to answer. Half the reason was because I was dumbstruck. The other half was because I was so used to Joker speaking for me that I expected him to answer Harvey. But he didn't, only saying, "Tell him the truth, Princess."

Another minute seemed to pass before I knelt down at Harvey's bedside. "I'm sorry," I cried. "I wanted to help, that night. I was going to go after Rachel; I was!" I continued to shout when he scoffed and looked the other way. "But I was ordered to stay behind and keep an eye on things at the precinct! I had no choice!"

To my dismay, the Joker began to laugh. The amusement at my humiliation filled the room. "Oh, yes, Harvey. I forgot to mention the best part! _She's_ been running around in a uniform too, pretending to play the big heroine and thinking she has more dignity because no one knows she exists!" He took a few steps toward me and grabbed both my arms with one of his own, forcing them behind my back. "But she slipped up. She let me find out." Then he chuckled and placed his lips against my neck, leaving me to watch Harvey's glare of disgust. I shook my head slightly, not knowing how to deny something that I knew was true. "But don't blame her," he said suddenly, letting go of me so quick I was forced back onto my knees. The Joker made his way to the side of Harvey's bed and placed his loaded gun in the half-destroyed man's hand. He squeezed his fingers around the trigger. "It's me you want." I watched the red curve into a smirk as he undid the handcuff on Harvey's right wrist.

"You live," Harvey spoke after a moment. I had never heard that kind of tone in his voice before. It scared me even more than the Joker's loaded gun. He was holding up the side of his own lucky coin, crystal clear with the face side up. "You die." He turned it, revealing the other face that was black and nearly melted. Then he flipped it.

Joker was amused, but I was horrified. I found myself hoping, praying, that the coin would land clear-side-up. If I ever asked myself why I sat there, wishing for this, I would never give a logical reason. Even now, I didn't dig through my mind trying to clarify my sane reason for it. I only wanted it, and nearly sank against the wall when the shiny metal came up in Harvey's hand. What would I have done if it had been the opposite result? I was scared to think of the possible answers. Would I have saved the Joker, after everything that he had done? I didn't know, but I didn't have time to think about it. The madman dragged me up off the floor and out the door before anything else could happen. I looked back to see Harvey's glare; this time, it was directed at me. My heart skipped a beat in my chest, and Joker didn't even notice.

He pulled me around the corner just as two police officers and an actual nurse came to rush Harvey's bed out of the room. "Good work, Princess," said Joker, digging in his jacket pockets. He pulled out the plastic beacon that controlled the bracelet on my hand. It shocked me to see that, after pressing a button on it, the red light began to blink faster and beep as well. My breathing picked up for a moment, until the bracelet suddenly snapped off of my wrist and fell to the floor. "Shhh!" I had nearly shrieked with fright before the Joker snuck his hand around my mouth. "You've done good so far, but if I get caught here, it's your pretty little head."

When he let go, I turned around, but he was already half way up the stairs, back the way we came. Was I supposed to follow him? Why had he taken the bracelet off? I looked in the opposite direction, where I could run down a few floors and join everyone in the parking lot, only to be rushed out of the area and away from him. But where would I go then? He knew where my apartment was. He informed me already that he knew I wouldn't run. So what was I supposed to do now? I turned back, seeing his figure disappear around the corner of the staircase. What if he didn't come after me if I left? What if he was just letting me go? I kept turning back and forth, trying to decide what to do, where to go. And right then, I figured I was starting to go insane, because I quickly bolted up the stairs and around the corner after my captor. "Wait!" I called, nearly shoving straight into him on the next flight of stairs. As it turns out, he had stopped there, just to see if I would actually follow him. He was always right.

"You're in for quite the field trip, Princess," he said, chuckling a bit and looking back at me. The Joker adjusted his jacket and started walking again, this time down another flight of stairs and down a hallway (where I followed him). He proceeded to go out the back doors of the hospital. I didn't respond, but I didn't have a good feeling either as he shoved me inside the back of one of the yellow buses, waiting to depart from the hospital. It confused me how the driver never noticed that he was on board, nor did any of the patients, too concerned with themselves. I did shield my eyes, though, as the psychopath I followed press a trigger he held in his lap. Several blasts echoed in my ears, and I heard the sound of a building collapsing. I felt like a child, holding my knees up on the seat of the bus with my head buried in them, avoiding the scene of destruction.

-xx-

After a while of driving, I started to wonder where exactly the bus was supposed to rendezvous with the patients and doctors on it. We passed at least two hospitals before starting to drive along the coast of the water that Gotham rested near. Foolishly, I was going to turn to ask Joker, as if he would have told me what was going on. However, I only saw him toying with his gun again for a few seconds before raising it up into the air and blasting a hole in the ceiling.

Though many of the patients and a few of the doctors began to panic, the rest of the doctors unmasked their faces and brought out their concealed weapons. It turned out that they and the driver had all been waiting for the Joker to give the signal. The patients and other doctors became hostages, and all I did was sit there and watch as he gave orders for them to sit and stay quiet or he would shoot them. The bus finally stopped, and he told the now undisguised men to round them up and carry out the plan. I looked out the window to see that we were stopped at yet another abandoned building. This one was half finished, with floors still under definite construction. However, the elevator worked.

The patients and doctors started to peer over at me, knowing I was not one of them. So why was I sitting there and doing nothing? I could see them questioning me, and I looked away as more bullets penetrated the ceiling. The Joker's voice became a distant buzz in my ear. My vision became blurry with tears, and I bent forward in the seat of the bus, concealing my face from every one of them. I watched and felt my sobs leave through every silent breath. These were innocent people, who were in danger of being killed, and I? I- who was supposed to be a secret heroine- was sitting there more helpless than ever, more ashamed than I had ever been. But no matter how much of their pleas I heard, no matter how many of them were taken off of the bus and forced into the building in groups, I didn't move. I couldn't. My shoulders shook as I silently cried, right behind the only person that had paid the most attention to me the past few days.

The sun had already set long before the hostages were all set up along the building, and when they were, Joker climbed back up the stairs of the bus. He laughed to himself about something the entire time before walking down the empty lane to me. He stood in front of me, and it took everything I had to look up at him. He was holding my tattered red clothing from the van in front of me. "Cat got your tongue, Princess?"

And suddenly, I stood up. I wanted answers, needed them. So before he could say or do anything, I shoved past the Joker and stalked to the front of the bus, closing the doors and jamming them locked as best I could. As I had suspected, members of his crew started gathering and pointing guns at me through the glass. I only stood there, daring them to pull all their triggers and shoot me. Then he was behind me; Joker, telling them to stand down, that we needed some privacy together. So I played along, turning my back to the gun wielding men and shoving him back, again and again until we were in the middle of the bus, concealed in the dark. All he did was laugh.

"What am I to you?" I said, not letting the cold glare slip from my face. "A toy? Are you trying to prove something where you need me as a variable?"

"And where is this coming from all of a sudden?" he asked through his twisted laughter. My expression did not lift.

"I'm sick of being a part of your game," I said, getting as close to him as possible. "I've already lost. Congratulations. I believed I was actually making a difference in this Goddamn city until a sociopath freak kidnapped me and convinced me otherwise!" The crooked smile on his face finally began to fade, and so I kept going. "You got what you wanted! You broke me! You've broken me completely! A few weeks ago I would have taken on you and your men to rescue these people, and just now I couldn't even stand up against you! I sat there like a fucking coward!"

He grabbed my shoulder, rougher than I expected. "Language, Princess," he said in a deep growl that I knew he only used when he was beginning to get angry. "I wouldn't be taking that kind of tone with me."

"You're _sick_," I spat. "_Crazy._ And you spend all of your time trying to convince yourself that you're not, that you're really doing these things to prove something to everyone in this city! But you're just fucking crazy!" Without missing a beat after that, I felt his fist crash into my jaw. The force of it caused me to jolt sideways against the window of the vehicle, but I immediately stood back up, urging him to do it again. He did. Each time he saw that I would aim to stand up after a hit, he would beat me again.

"You think you're so smart, don't you?" he asked me when my lip was split and bleeding uncontrollably. "You think you're better than me?"

Starting to get out of breath, I licked the blood off my lips and shook my head. "No," I breathed. That seemed to confuse him even more. "I'm just like you, trying to justify my reasons for doing the things I do with excuses that won't add up in the end. Like why I followed you out of that hospital. In my mind I know why I did it, but I wouldn't dare speak it to anyone because it's crazy!" Again the back of his gloved hand was brought against my face.

"What exactly are you trying to tell me Princess?"

He had me pressed up against the back of one of the seats now. My hands rested on the top of it, trying to support my body. But Joker snuck his gloved hands under my legs, dragging the nurse's gown up a bit. I hissed in a breath and brought my hands up his chest, along the fabric of his suit, brushing the jacket off of his shoulders. He dropped his arms for a moment to let it slide onto the ground. And in return, he gathered the piece of clothing I wore up around my waist, then my stomach, then my chest, and pulled it up over my head before he let me answer him. "I'm saying I can't stop you," I whispered, running my fingers along his cheek. Some of the white came off onto my fingertips, and I brushed them together so that it smudged. "I won't stop you." It was the horrible, twisted truth. "But I won't help you either. I don't know what that makes me in your little game. I've watched you kill, seen you destroy lives of people that I know and love. But you got to me first, I suppose." I felt his lips against my neck and the red paint being smudged onto my skin. "Why you kept me so long, I'll never really know, but I can pretend to know why," I breathed, wrapping my arms around his neck and letting the fingertips of my right hand slide through his hair. The green came off onto them, and I stared at it while he covered my chest and shoulders with the red war paint. "I only wish I could have saved you first, Jack."

He paused and looked up at me with the stare that made his eyes seem wider, his eyebrows raised toward his forehead. If he was looking for a further explanation from me, he wasn't going to get one. Instead, I pressed my now pale lips against his, ignoring the pain that seemed to gush out with the fresh blood from my cut. I could feel it, dripping down my chin, but that didn't stop anything. His gloved hand rose to my throat and clasped a bit tightly. I never brought mine up to stop him. His other arm still rested underneath my legs, supporting my entire weight. Time seemed to pass by incredibly fast. It wasn't long before police sirens could be heard several streets away. For a few seconds, neither of us moved. He kept the grip on my neck and pressed harder against my bruised lips until finally, I uttered a few whimpers of pain that were caught between his lips.

Joker pulled away then, keeping his eyes on my almost exposed body and still listening to the sirens approaching in the background. "You may not like what I have planned Princess," he said, running a gloved finger over my bloody chin. "But I'd love for you to see the fireworks."

After hearing him describe it that way, I knew he was planning something big. A lot of lives were going to be lost, and I was going to let it happen.

My lip twitched into a crooked, half-smile, and Joker helped me slip back into the red costume I used to wear as a hero.


	7. Insane

The wind blew gently past as I stepped onto the sidewalk in my pair of red boots. I slid my mask on over my eyes and glanced around. I could see the lights of the approaching police cars dancing off the sides of buildings in the distance. On one of the top floors of the skyscraper in front of me, he was waiting. We were on the coast of Gotham's peninsula, and I knelt down at the water's edge, cleaning Joker's smudged paint off of me.

The atmosphere around me had completely changed. For one, his followers now kept their lingering eyes away from me. I was escorted by two of them in the elevator up to the right floor. I listened to the hum of the shaft gliding up the wires and tried not to think about what exactly I was doing. In refusing to stand in his way, I would be seen as an accomplice to the Joker. But no one had ever noticed me before. Why should it suddenly be so different now?

There was the _ding_ of the bell, and the doors slid open. I stepped out first, leaving the other guards to go to their positions as hostages in order to trick the police. I could see the real captives, frightened and forced to hold guns that were not loaded. Yet I paid no heed and continued up a flight of stairs to the floor above. I was greeted by the echoing bark of a canine, and jumped before Joker, who stood admiring one of his precious blades, shushed the large dog. "Well," he began with a smile that appeared larger than it really was. "Glad you finally decided to show up."

I maneuvered between the group of rottweilers guarding him and looked out the side of the unfinished building. Two large ferries were stopped in the middle of the river. The Joker had about five hundred lives of innocent people at his fingertips on each boat. Constant pangs of guild and helplessness rushed over me. I ignored them, nearly convincing myself that he really wouldn't blow them up. Of course, I knew better than that. "So what are you waiting for, exactly?" I asked, almost truly curious as to what he was trying to prove. And I had a feeling that this time, he would tell me. He wouldn't be able to resist.

"You see, Princess," he began, clicking the knife in his hand shut. "People overuse the term 'good' when describing themselves." He chuckled and turned his voice into a mocking, high-pitched falsetto. "Oh, we're all such good people, unlike that nasty Joker." What I couldn't believe after hearing him was that I had to keep myself from laughing. What was worse, it was difficult. He went on anyway. "But once these 'good people' have the choice between saving themselves or dying to save people they don't know or care about, all of that moral, good business goes straight to Hell." I glanced down at the two ferries while he explained further, watching for signs of life on either boat. I saw nothing. They were dark. "Each boat is rigged to blow, and each of them have the trigger to the other boat. At eleven, if nothing's happened, I blow them all up." He only stood there beside me, twisting the blade between his hand, alternating between opening and closing it. My fists were clenched tightly in anxiety. I was worried. Different emotions were spiking inside me every other second. The side that fell for the Joker knew he had a point and that people were hypocritical. But another big part of me knew that this wasn't a reason for them to have to die. Which part was stronger, I had yet to find out.

Both of us were aware that the police had shown up. Unknown to them, we could see the S.W.A.T. team heading into the building and up the elevator. Of course, they would never make it. Not only had the Joker wired the elevator to explode, but also his men were waiting as 'hostages' to fire on them when the real hostages were taken out.

Or at least, that had been the plan.

"Looks like we have a pest crashing the party," the Joker said suddenly. He picked up a metal pipe from the ground and twirled it in his hand, replacing the knife. How he had seen it first, I wasn't sure. Batman was gliding across the gap between our building and the one across from it. I saw him land on one of the lower floors and immediately backed away from the edge, becoming nervous. What would he think if he saw me with the infamous Joker? Of all the people who knew I existed, he probably was the smartest and strongest. No matter how hard I trained myself, there would always be someone I couldn't beat. At first I had thought it was only the Joker. But as I thought about it more, I realized I would never be able to fight against the one and only Batman. "Get out of here."

I turned to face the Joker. He was eyeing the elevator doors with frustration. I wanted to object, but when I took a step toward him, he pointed a now open knife at me. I froze, hesitating for a moment about what to do. Why did he want me to go suddenly? And why threaten me with a knife if I didn't? More questions to which I would never get answers. Nonetheless, when Joker released the dogs in every direction to search for Batman, I ran the opposite way.

The ceiling of this particular floor of the building had not been finished yet. Wooden planks that formed the shape and outline of it were placed, but there was no insulation between them. Conveniently, more stacks of wood and metal, still bound together, sat in the corner of the room. The small tower stood about five feet. It was easy for me to climb up on them and then up into the ceiling, concealed in its shadows. I then waited for the right moment. My nails dug into the wood of the planks each time someone took a hit. Joker brought Batman to his knees; Batman smashed Joker's face into the floor. The pattern alternated back and forth, continuing until Batman gained the upper hand. I cringed as blades from his armor cut into the Joker's already scarred face. My heart started to pound when Joker fell off the side of the building. All I could hear was his laugh, echoing, and I fell off the plank I had balanced on. I was careful to steady myself before Batman could turn to spot me. I swallowed hard as he pulled the Joker so that he hung upside down at our level. He saw me, and then he laughed. "You just couldn't let me go, could you?"

Batman ignored him, which was no surprise, and turned to me. "Where have you been?"

I walked a bit closer, eyeing the Joker as he watched me, my body language. "Out of commission," I answered. "Planned a big comeback today, with fireworks and everything, but you beat me to it."

He did not respond, only turned back to Joker, interrogating about Harvey Dent. In the city, I noticed the clock tower. It read 11:08, just minutes past the scheduled detonation of the ferries. I breathed a small sigh of relief, as they were both still afloat. "Go find Dent," I said, interrupting another one of Joker's laughs. "I'll stay and make sure the police get to him."

Before he ran off, Batman had given me a look. I held my expression at the time, but knew he was debating whether or not to trust me. He knew something had changed; he just didn't know what. And right before he leapt off the building's edge, I sighed. He shouldn't have trusted me.

Other police officers were on their way up the stairs. I turned back toward the Joker and went up to him, searching in the pockets of his suit for a knife that I knew he had. "Looking for this?" He brought the blade out of his sleeve and gave it to me. I gave him a slight glare, to which he chuckled with full amusement. Going around to his back, I cut the wire that held him in the air. All he could do was laugh as he hit the floor, taking his time to stand up. "Good acting, Princess." I threw the open knife down at his feet, then I turned and looked at the gaps between the building we stood on and others. There was an apartment complex within jumping range. I could scale down the fire escape and grab a car from the street to catch up with Batman. "He'll kill you, you know," said Joker suddenly, sticking the knife back in his pocket and straightening his suit. "It's too late to save him."

I was just so predictable that Joker had guessed what I was going to do. I turned to him, knowing that what I decided to do now would define my life, maybe even my death. "Well," I started. "Then you'll have one less distraction to worry about." Just as he gave me a look of surprise, I touched my lips to his. "I can't let you win, Jack," I whispered, hearing the police coming up the stairs at last. "Not this time." He was surprised, taken aback by my sudden decision to go against him, and I knew if he could he would have grabbed me and held his knife to my throat.

However, before he could even react, I ran to the edge of the building, and I jumped.

-xx-

The ruins of the darkened building of 250 52nd street came into view. What must have happened during the explosion ran through my mind. I purposely made myself feel sick thinking about what must have happened to Rachel. But that had not been my fault, I thought. I was ordered to keep an eye on the Joker. He overpowered me. There was nothing else I could have done. At least, that was how I remembered it.

I slammed on the brakes of the car I'd taken from the scene of an accident. Sure, it was a bit unethical, but the man who had gotten out of it previously had handed over his keys with barely any questions. I had blamed my outfit, but nonetheless told him where he could find it later.

Getting out, I could already see the scene playing out in front of me. Commissioner Gordon lay on the ground, helpless next to his family, except for his son. The boy stood by Harvey, who pointed a gun at his forehead. Finally, Batman was trying to negotiate with him. There was a lot at stake here. I had to think hard about something that I could do and fast. If I just charged, I'd be approaching from the side. Harvey would sure see me coming. If I could get behind him, I could disarm him and protect Gordon's family while Batman incapacitated him. I prayed nothing would happen while I stepped carefully around Harvey. But the new villain was impatient. I watched him flip the coin and shoot the gun. The bullet penetrated Batman's armor, and the dark knight sunk to the ground. The gun was then turned back to the boy, who struggled to get away. Harvey went to flip the coin again, and I took whatever chance I had.

I kicked the pistol out of his hand before it went off and knocked the boy out of the way. Despite my minimal relationship with Harvey, it still took everything I had to even punch him. He fought against me, trying to reach for the gun as soon as I forced him onto the ground.

Then, just when I thought I had control over him, Harvey's free hand balled into a fist and came across my jaw. Even abandoning the gun for a moment, he began to overpower me. When he had me on the ground, he picked up the gun and dragged me up by my arm. The revolver was pressed to my stomach, and my mask was ripped away from my face. "This is your fault as much as anyone else's," he snarled at me. I cringed and looked away, but his fingers took hold of my chin. Harvey forced me to look at the coin that had landed on the gravel. The burned and melted side lay face up under the street lamp. Harvey looked at me, and then he shrugged. "Fair is fair, Rose.""

I heard the trigger click and the gun shoot, as if it took a whole minute for the scene to play out. My vision was blurred for a moment as the bullet entered through a weak point in the side of my hip. Searing pain shot through it. The close proximity had made the shell crack my bone. And Harvey let me fall onto my knees. Momentarily, any strength that I may have had was gone. I couldn't hold myself up and therefore rolled onto my back with a hiss and a cry.

But when I looked up, Harvey was not standing over me. He was not ready to aim a kick at my stomach like a normal killer would, having been so confident in himself. Instead, he was preoccupied, fighting off both the Joker and Batman at the same time. It was a three-way fight with guns, knives, and hand-to-hand combat. I was shocked to see Joker had come after me, assuming that was why he had come. How had he gotten away from the police and off the building? Had he followed me? Why had I not seen him if he had been in such close of a distance the whole time?

For a moment, the fighting stopped. The Joker stood in front of me, anxiously twisting the blade in his hand back and forth. Batman stood completely still and ready in front of the Commissioner and his family. Harvey stood alone, switching between pointing the gun at the rest of us in turn.

Blood leaked from the hole in my hip, soaking into the red fabric and onto the pavement as well. I tried to hold my hand over the wound to slow it. Batman's eyes were rotating from me, to Joker, to Harvey. Don't try to save me, I thought. There were too many reasons not to. "Put the gun down Harvey," came the hoarse voice from behind the mask. "He's responsible for this, not her-"

"She's just as responsible as the rest of us!" Harvey snapped, making me jump.

He took a step toward me, where I instinctively began to move back a bit. To my surprise, Joker sidestepped into Harvey's path. "Sorry Harv," he muttered with a 'tsk'. "Can't let you do that."

For a moment, neither Harvey nor Batman knew what to do. In response, Joker proceeded to kick Harvey in the groin, causing Batman to respond before Harvey could raise the revolver again. He aimed it between the two of them, not caring which one would be the first bull's-eye. I looked at the Joker, fighting off the dark knight to save whichever side of Harvey either of them wanted. But who would save them?

Too near to Harvey, there was an edge, leading straight off of the top road we were on into the city's storage deck below. I had not known this when I raised myself up from the ground and ran straight into Harvey. The gun flew from his hand just as he pulled the trigger again. A hot pain rushed through my shoulder as the bullet grazed it, ripping skin and spattering blood on the both of us. The shot gained the attention of Batman and Joker, but each was too late to see Harvey and me go over the edge.

At that moment, in the air, I could see something in Harvey's eyes. I only imagined that without Rachel, he had been wishing for a while that he were dead too. And I watched as a white flash of relief shot across his eyes, even as he stared back at me. But I could not say the same for myself. While Harvey made no attempt to save himself, I grabbed onto anything I could to stop the fall. After crashing onto a ladder, I let my fingertips latch onto one of the steps and linger there, but only managed to keep the grip for a few seconds. Not long after that, I had to let go. My shoulder had snapped and dislocated itself in the process. A scream echoed from my lips, but quickly was shocked from me when I felt my body hit the ground. I never actually closed my eyes until my head collided with it too.

-xx-

| Weeks Later – April |

"Tell me your name," came the voice of Dr. Elizabeth Clark, psychologist and medical examiner at Arkham Asylum.

"My name is Rose," I muttered. In a small interrogation room I sat with a bandage wrapped a bit too tight around my hips and gauze taped to my shoulder. "Rosaline Carter Jacoby."

The doctor nodded. I didn't blink as I watched her. I knew this would be the last time I would see her. It had to be. I wasn't insane; no jury would convict me, especially of that. Dr. Clark had met me several times before for psychological trials. The jury would sees the recordings and decides at the end of the trial if I would be guilty by insanity, just guilty, or innocent. I was being tried as an excessive to all the murders the Joker had committed, including the ones before Rachel. I had no proof that I had not been with him before that night, for Amy refused to testify that she had seen me. My hospital records for the week I had spent in Gotham General were destroyed in the explosion. I had barely anything to go on, but I was not a killer. I was not insane. My recorded sessions with Dr. Clark had shown that. All the meetings with her started out the same.

"Where did you grow up?" she asked me.

"Gotham City," I answered.

"How are you today, Rose?"

"Fine."

"Why don't you tell me about your childhood?"

I looked up from my hands now. This was different. Usually she would do something to examine the status of my psyche. I had done the standard Rorschach, had been shown disturbing images to measure any spikes in brain waves, and had also taken a polygraph. This time, we were just talking. I wasn't even sure if the conversation was being recorded. Nonetheless, I shrugged. "It was normal. My parents were the best. I was the good girl in school, and I found a vice in track when I hit the ninth grade." As far as I knew, I had it pretty good as a kid.

The doctor nodded. "I see." Her yellow notepad lay blank on the table, the pen that went with it constantly clicking in her hand. I grew suspicious. What was she trying to do? "And you say running was a vice, a stress reliever," she started. "What caused you stress?"

When I looked back on it, a lot of things caused me stress, but they were all normal. "Getting good grades, trying to be perfect… basically what every high school girl goes through, I guess."

"Anything else?"

I started to think about it very hard, trying to go back to what I felt like in high school. I shut my eyes tight, and then opened them again. "I was bored," I answered after a minute or two.

"What do you mean?"

"Bored with my life," I continued. "I never wanted to be a normal person doing normal things. I wanted excitement and adventure to take over my life. When the crime rate went up in Gotham, that's why I did what I did. I became this female Batman to help people and in turn receive fulfillment."

She nodded again. "I understand; that will be all for today."

x x x

By the time I was dragged into the court room the next day, I was tired of being asked questions, tired of watching a hundred people stare at me while I answered them. Yet I was still asked more and more, from both sides of the court. Because I had a rather large trust fund, I was able to hire the best defense attorney I could find. However, not many of them wanted to defend me because of the case, but I did find a one Charles Miller, who had been an acquaintance of Harvey's and just happened to believe my story. I took a seat next to him as I was finally called off the stand.

My prosecutor stood up. Dr. Clark sat at the same table he did. "Your honor, prosecution would like to present auditory evidence to the court."

"Proceed," muttered the man sitting high on his bench, twirling the mallet in his hands. It reminded me of how the Joker twirled his knife, using his thumb to twist the handle around and around and around…

The prosecutor went over to the television that sat in the middle of the room and pressed a few buttons. I was shocked to hear the interview from the previous day play through the speakers. There was no visual though, only voices.

"Objection!" cried Miller. "Your honor, this interview was scheduled to be off the evidence record."

"Overruled," snapped the judge. "A formal agreement in ink should have been made."

My heart started to race. Why? I wasn't sure. From what I could recall, there had been nothing against me that could have been used as guileful evidence. Still, I tried hard to think about it while hearing my own voice play from the television. "_…bored with my life. I never wanted to be a normal person doing normal things. I wanted excitement and adventure to take over my life. That's why I did what I did._"

My head snapped up. Members of the jury had gasped lightly and looked over at me. I shook my head in denial, denial that this was happening.

"_And you say running was a vice, a stress reliever._"

"_I guess._"

The tape recording stopped, and people in the court jumped out of their seats in an uproar, screaming accusations and profanity. About a dozen people were thrown out of the room before it finally calmed down again. I pressed my right hand against my forehead, with frustrated tears ready to spill over at any moment. Charles had objected just before the eruption of the court audience. He claimed the interview had been edited, tampered with. Of course, he did not have a copy of the real thing because Dr. Clark kept the recorded tape with her at Arkham. And just as I looked over at her, I knew she could see me staring out of the corner of her eye. But she refused to look back. And for the longest I've ever felt such an emotion, I loathed her. I wanted to climb over the table and snap her neck right before the court. _That _would give them something to convict.

The shuffles of the members of the jury moving from their seats brought me back to reality. I swallowed hard and could feel the perspiration on my forehead. We sat there for a total of three minutes and forty-two seconds before the jury members came out. That made me even more nervous. It had to be a record time. I knew I was guilty already. I knew I'd be locked in county prison. What I had not expected was-

"We, the members of the jury, find the Defendant, Rosaline Carter Jacoby, guilty by insanity of all charges."


	8. Revenge

Again, chaos.

The quiet whispering of the people behind me suddenly made an instantaneous crescendo. Some people applauded, family members of the Joker's victims. Others began to protest simply because I got the Insanity Plea, as if Arkham Asylum wasn't worse than going to prison. As if I deserved the death penalty rather than Arkham. But they didn't know any better. Hell, I barely knew. I had only been to Arkham once when helping Batman detain Bane, who I was sure was still in the facility somewhere. But the place was ancient. Plants on the grounds were hardly taken care of and left to grow and spread all over. Pieces of buildings were missing, the bricks having been so old that they would sometimes crumble. But no one ever cared because the only _creatures_ that resided there were the worst of any of the villains around Gotham, the ones that dressed up in costumes and gave themselves names. The crazy ones.

I shook my head in disbelief, refusing to take in what had just been said. People were still crowded around the courtroom. Police officers wrestled to get people out before they could climb over the gate to get to me. Why? I wasn't the Joker. I hadn't done anything I was charged with! I was never there when the Joker killed someone. He had never killed anyone in front of me.

But maybe I was the closest thing they could get. Maybe they figured that I would suffice in his place, at least for now, able to be someone people blamed. But I was still innocent.

When I was finally able to look up into the crowd of people, my breath caught in my throat. A few people were still remaining quiet and standing still. One of them was Bruce Wayne, and he looked straight back at me with an expression that I could not read. I dared not break eye contact with him until I was finally ushered toward the court exit to be immediately transferred to the asylum. Bruce looked away too and exited the room before me. I swallowed hard to avoid calling out to him. With the court nearly empty, I could be escorted out without any problem, except someone in the corner of the room caught my eye.

| Joker |

He stood in the far left corner of the room, out of the judge's view from his bench. A pale smile cracked the make up that covered his gleaming scars. Between his lips rested an unlit cigarette. He wore the same navy uniform as the day of the parade, his newly washed hair tucked underneath the cap. And just as an extra precaution, he tipped his head forward the whole time during the trial, as if someone might recognize him.

Of course, that didn't stop Rose. Just as the court cleared and she walked by, Jack brought his head up again. His teeth ran slightly deeper into the cigarette as she stared at him. He could see the scars and the paint being brushed across his face in her eyes; saw them widen out of recognition. And all he did was wink.

As a matter of fact, he had known about the tampered evidence, having seen the real interview himself in person. Rose didn't give him enough credit when it came to being clever. And Jack would have been lying if he had said that he wasn't upset about her sentencing, only because he would have to be the one to bust her out of Arkham. And then it would be a new game of Cat and Mouse between himself and Rose and the Batman. The more he thought about it, the more the idea vexed him. And the better the thought of leaving Rose at Arkham began to sound. Did he really have to come to her rescue? She had spent most of the time with him trying to prove how much she didn't need him. Why should he play hero now? Was she just going to come begging for help? Well that wasn't the way he did things. Besides, "_Who am I to toy with the jury's decision?"_ he thought, his lips curving into a rather amused smirk.

A moment later, though it felt so much longer, he saw one of the officers dragging Rose try to place handcuffs on her. The smirk became suddenly darker, as if it could, as Jack watched Rose take out the two policemen with ease. When the second fell, out cold, onto the floor, he couldn't help but chuckle. "You're going to get in some trouble for that, Princess."

She stepped over them and walked to him, plucking the cigarette out of his mouth and dropping it to the floor. "What are you doing here?"

"Came to watch the show," he replied, placing his hands in the navy pockets and leaning against the courtroom wall again.

"Glad you enjoyed it," she muttered. Her voice was dripping with sarcasm.

"Oh, but I did," he marveled. "Huge turn on to see such a pretty thing take the blame for me."

She ignored the would-be compliment. "It's your fault my hospital records were blown up." 

Jack only laughed again. "Oops."

She scoffed and turned to walk away. Where was she planning to go? Cops and reporters and proud families surrounded the place. Jack grabbed her arm before she foolishly walked right out the front door. So much for contemplating letting her rot in a mad house. She cringed as his fingers squeezed her arm, but he ignored it. His free hand snuck around her waist. If anything, he just wanted to see if a certain prediction he had was true.

He kissed her. Not too hard at first, but Jack wasn't one to wait for permission for anything. However, he began to hear voices coming closer from outside of the courtroom. And sure enough, one of his crew came in through a side door just as he pulled away from Rose. "Boss, we gotta go!"

Tipping his hat as a small gesture to her, another smile cracked on his face, letting the scars show through a bit below the make up. "That's my cue, Princess," he mused before backing up from her to go out the same door. She turned to face the door where voices could be heard growing. No doubt it was more police officers, seeing why she had not yet been dragged out of the courthouse. But when she looked back at him, the way her blue eyes widened, he had to stop. Even the smirk on his face had been wiped away. There was something he had never seen before in her gaze, the one thing he could never actually inflict on her, no matter what he tried: fear. The kind that made one freeze in their tracks and start to quiver, possibly even scream or cry.

Sure enough, by the time the doors to the courtroom were thrown open to show police officers with their guns drawn, Jack could have sworn he saw a tear slide down her cheek. He was out of view of the officers, but he could still see Rose. And he saw her immediately make the biggest mistake she could; she tried to run.

There were several doors that led out of the courthouse. There was the side door that Jack now stood behind, watching the scene in front of him. There were the main doors, where the audience of the trial had exited afterward, and there was the door where the judge entered and exited from before and after the trial. Since the main entrance was blocked and going through the side door would have led the police directly to him, she ran back toward the judge's bench. She leaped over it with surprising speed and aimed to go through the door and out a different way.

Jack was being begged by his men to get out of the place. It was beginning to become swarmed with police. But he paid no attention to them. "Get out, then!" he finally growled to one of them. "Go back to the hideout, and make sure you're not followed, or I'll put a bullet in the both of you myself!" Hearing this, the two of them finally backed away, leaving him to go back out the side of the building out of the fire exit and to the van that was parked outside of it.

Inside his jacket, Jack pulled out a gun that was fully loaded. Rather than heading out the same as his men, he went down a side staircase that would eventually lead to the same exit through the judge's quarters. Carefully, he listened to the footsteps of those in front of him, trying hard to distinguish Rose's from the others. She was still ahead of them, and in a few short seconds, he could have pulled her in through the door he was hiding behind and gotten her out of the building before the police could even figure out where she had gone.

But gunshots came first.

Not just one, but several. He heard them through the walls. Through the door he was about to walk, he could see the dark brown locks of Rose's hair spread out on the floor. A desk covered the remainder of her body, and she lay sideways facing away from Jack. Her right arm stretched out. Blood began to pool on the ground below.

Jack had seen so many people die. He had caused so many deaths himself. But none of them had ever had such an impact on him. He was still far from feeling extreme sadness, but shock was something he had never experienced before and now felt like a stab with his own blade. The blood spread too quickly for him to comprehend. Rose fell too fast for him to imagine, and not because she was putting anyone in danger, but because she was running… Because she was afraid.

The Joker was not one to experience remorse or regret or feelings for anyone. He just didn't. He was a psychopath. He could not feel love or passion for anyone. Nothing but the adrenaline rush of a fresh kill gave him pleasure. Nothing ever made him sad. But seeing his princess die was enough to make him angry, angrier than he had ever been before.

In following weeks, Joker stared at his own face on the news several times. Without Rose, the world would never know who he truly was. Gotham quickly began to spin back into chaos, with more death and robberies than ever before. Joker grew smarter. He hired more men and even some women. On the day Rose was shot, he came back to the apartment and killed his own men, just out of pure anger. The first few days after, he robbed five banks by himself, killing anyone who got in his way. Hardly anyone was surviving his attacks anymore. Batman and the police forces were having trouble even keeping up with him, knowing what he would do next or where he would go. And that was what fueled his smile, the screams, the gunshots, the blood, the explosions, the bodies, the kills. Soon, he would forget why he continued to kill more and more, until months later when someone else's face would finally show up on the news.

|| Rosaline Jacoby ||

"Rose?"

It took a while for my eyes to open in response to my name. When they finally did, they felt extremely heavy, as if they did not want to obey my mind. If anything, they hurt, and so did the rest of me. My vision remained blurry for several seconds before I was finally able to see the bright light that shined down on me clearly. Though it made my head ache horribly, I squinted to look beyond it. A woman I recognized stood over me, wearing a doctor's uniform.

The tight bun that held her dull, brown hair back brought back memories of her seated at the prosecution side of the courtroom. A dark maroon lipstick covered her lips, and black eyeliner was beginning to become rubbed off of the surrounding of her eyes. For a moment, I just stared at her, not knowing quite what to do. I was disoriented, confused, yet I had the urge to reach up and strangle her, just wrap my fingers around her neck and squeeze, with my nails digging into the flesh…

"She can be transferred to a room now."

Unlike the hospital, no questions were asked to make sure I had not suffered from amnesia. However, I was in a hospital-like bed, now being wheeled to a different area. The bright lights that had originally been shining over me disappeared, and my surroundings became significantly darker. When my eyes got used to the change of light, I looked around, recognizing the Secure Transit area of Arkham Asylum. My immediate reaction was to sit up. But when I tried to lift myself up with my hands, I found that they were handcuffed to small, metal railings on the bed.

Within a few seconds, I began to panic. I remembered running from the police back at the courthouse, and then the gunshot… But how long had it been since then? I didn't know, and I didn't want to ask either. I didn't want to know.

A few more minutes of sitting there, wallowing in my own shock, and the handcuffs were unlocked. The blanket below me was picked up and transferred onto a bed in one of the resident rooms. Not even the doctor said anything to me before walking back toward the door. But I had questions, so many of them. They just weren't coming to the surface of my mind yet, but I knew they were there. I tried to sit up, to stand and run and ask for someone to come back and tell me what was happening.

Then I felt pain in my ribs, a stinging that seared when I moved. Looking down, I saw that I was wearing a variation of the "Arkham" uniform. A bright orange top had been put on me, with the sleeves ripped off so that it was in the shape of a tank top. It was a button-up, with a few of the things missing off the top. I couldn't even close my shirt all the way. I was relieved to have at least been given pants with it, but my shoes and red outfit were gone. Under the layer of orange, there was a bandage wrapped around my entire torso, ending below my chest. A few spots told me that I had been previously bleeding through it. But the brown color of the dried blood also told me that it had stopped a while ago.

I had forgotten about the injury for a moment, and I was forced to lie back down from the pain. Trying to breathe easily, I turned to hear the door opening again.

"Rosaline Carter Jacoby," said a man in a doctor's uniform. I had no idea who he was, but he seemed to know a lot about me. "The second-wealthiest heir in Gotham City, next to Bruce Wayne himself. Also known as the crimson cameo that no one ever seemed to notice until she teamed up with the Joker out of boredom."

The way he said it, his tone of voice. It didn't sound like something a doctor would say, someone who was trying to help me. It sounded like just another person who thought I was guilty by tainted evidence. "That's a lie," I said, weakly, having spoken for the first time since I woke up.

"You know, recently," he started again. "Things have gotten a lot worse. He's killed even more people than you think by now, blown up more buildings than the city can fix. He's gone crazy, completely crazy."

I struggled to sit up again in my bed, my stomach aching and searing with the pain that I had no medication to get rid of. Wasn't that against the law? To leave a patient in agony when one is a licensed doctor? "You're lying. That's impossible." 

"How?" he said, turning toward me. Getting a good look at his face, I saw a few scars on his right cheek, and signs of a pretty severe burn. He was older, and balding rather quickly, it seemed. One of his eyes opened wider than the other, and I had a feeling this man was biased against my innocence. "How do you know how long it's been since you were shot?"

Looking away, I remained silent. There was nothing I could say to answer the question because, truthfully, I didn't know how long it had been. But he didn't say anything either, just stood at the edge of my bed and looked at me. My fingers began to twist around the sheets, playing with them. Still, he did not say anything. He was waiting for me to answer the question. "I guess I don-"

"Exactly!" he interrupted me, grasping my chin between two fingers and making me look back up at him. "You have no idea what he's done since you were locked up, and all because he thinks you're dead!"

I tried to get out of his grasp, tried to push him away, but he was too strong, and grabbed both of my wrists in one hand. He pulled me forward more and made me keep looking at him. I cringed, feeling his nails dig into the skin on my arms. "Stop it! You're hurting me!"

"You don't know anything about what being hurt feels like," he snarled, and finally let go, pushing my face away with enough force to twist my neck a bit too hard. "But you will," he continued, a bit softer, walking back toward the doorway. I held onto my neck, watching him, shaking because of what he had done to frighten me. "Starting tomorrow, you'll know exactly what pain will feel like."

"You can't do this to me," I shouted back. "It's illegal! You'll be put in prison for torturing a patient-"

He interrupted me again. "We both know you're not a patient here." He reached for the light switch and, with a flick of it, made the entire room go black. The only light that came in now was from the hallway, and that was not very much.

"Then you'll be put in prison for torturing me anyway!" I continued shouting, pressing my hands against the railing, trying to lift myself up from the bed. But I couldn't. I could no longer support my own weight. It was as if I had been trapped without food or water as the Joker's prisoner again. It hurt to even try to move at all. He shut the door, and I fought the tears that began to well up behind my eyes.

"Everyone thinks you're dead. No one will miss you. No one will come find you. No one will hear you scream."


	9. Arkham

**A/N: WARNING! This chapter is where the "RATED M" theme would begin to come in. Sexual and Violent Themes; read at your own risk! Thank you.**

|| Three Months Later: July 15, 2008 ||

Electricity. My body was on fire. The lights of the room in Arkham's Intensive Treatment were beating straight down onto my face. I had lost track of the days that had passed since I had been admitted into Arkham Asylum. I was breathing heavily in order to try to stay awake, to remember things that had begun to start missing from my mind. Hours were beginning to pass that I didn't even remember sleeping through. Sometimes, I would go through full days without even moving from the corner of my cell, and only remember to move to the bed when my body began to ache from sitting in the same place all day. I could feel the bones of my hips and ribs through my skin now, having not had a full stomach in months. It was as if my skin was starting to shrink. Whenever I saw my reflection, I appeared to be a shell of myself. My face had grown pale and shrunk so that my eyes appeared swollen. My lips were thin and pale almost all of the time. My hair had gotten long and began to go without proper care after a week. I was a complete skeleton, nearly dead already.

Lacerations had formed along my wrists over the old ones several times already after trying to escape the constant handcuffs that were placed on me whenever I was transferred to Intensive Treatment. This was two to three times a week, sometimes even four. After the first day, I learned that the man who had come into my room would be my psychologist, responsible for all of my treatment at Arkham Asylum. He had submitted me to electroshock therapy treatments, which gave permission for the visits to Intensive Treatment. Each time, I would be rendered unconscious with an anesthetic. Electricity would shock my brain several times until I began to seize. After this, I would sleep for hours on end, sometimes even a whole day. When I finally woke up, a different reaction would occur each time. Sometimes I vomited, other times I cried, and other times I had fits of anger that would not stop until I was bleeding somewhere from throwing things around the room in rage.

However, after I began to calm down following the treatments was when the personal visits from the psychologist began to occur. They were unscheduled, undocumented, and happened late at night when no one else was around except for the guards, who were ordered not to do anything unless necessary. Each time, the routine was the same. The door to my dark room would open, and I would see the light appear and disappear in a matter of seconds before the door closed again. Seconds would pass before I could feel the man pick me up off of the ground, or wherever I was, and threaten me before he would handcuff my hands to my bed. The first time I realized his intentions. I tried to fight back, to keep him from removing the pathetic excuse for clothing that I had been given. I screamed, louder than I thought I could, and nearly sliced my wrists open trying to get out of the chains that kept me still.

My body was not shown any mercy. I was beaten into complying with anything he wanted. The first time, he hurled me into unconsciousness before doing anything to me, because I will strong, still unbroken. But the more the weeks followed, the more I began to obey everything he said, do what he wanted, even remove the clothing myself. But I still screamed. It was the one thing he didn't mind, simply because he knew the guards would never come to my rescue. No one would, which made me begin to understand what he had told me the first day. And I hated him for it, for being right.

But over the past few weeks, I had begun to think about the Joker, how he had simply left me in the courtroom to be captured and taken to this place. Why hadn't he taken me with him to escape? I could have gone with him and made it out in time. The more I thought about it that way, the more I began to think about what I would be doing with him at different times of the day. And I realized I would rather have been chained to the table in the abandoned apartment, while he watched me, than anywhere near Arkham ever again. I even imagined different ways he could kill me. Guns, knives, poison, I was desperate for any of it whenever I heard the door to my cell open.

And today, I had gotten too desperate. When the door opened once more, I knew I was going to be taken again to Intensive Treatment. I was forced to walk (with my hands bound) the entire way, as the only form of exercise I got during the week. I could barely stand, and needed to be helped by guards in order to do so before I could be taken there. There was no use resisting; I had no way of doing so. I couldn't run, couldn't hide anywhere. There was too much security in the asylum. I was hopeless, but not hopeless enough to remember the medical tools that were kept in the rooms in Intensive Treatment: gloves, needles, anesthetics… and scalpels. I kept my head down the entire way there, until the door to the room was finally opened to reveal a metal table that I would lay on for the procedure. "Leave us," the psychologist ordered the guards, who left me standing to support my own weight and walked out of the room. The door was sealed behind them.

I immediately had to brace myself on the counter against the wall in order to stand upright. At least, that was the doctor's impression. He did nothing but push me down onto the table as my fingers wrapped around the surgical knife. I could feel it cutting into them as I tried to keep it hidden, but I ignored it. "How about a change of pace?" he suddenly asked me, tangling his fingers in my hair. I was forced up off of the table again, to stand up straight. "We could see how you react before your therapy treatment, rather than after."

His hand wrapped around my neck then, and he squeezed gently. He turned me to face him, and undid several of the buttons on the orange 'Arkham' top. I suddenly had an incredible urge to use the blade in my hand, and not on myself. I hated him. I wanted him to suffer, fear me like he had made me fear him. I wanted him to die. I wanted to feel his blood run all over my fingers, rather than my own. So I let him continue, just until the buttons were undone and he was distracted by my destroyed figure.

And then I plunged it into his chest.

Initially, I thought it would have felt horrible to ever harm someone else. But after months of torture, after everything he had done to me, there was a release that I experienced. It was better than any feeling I had had inside the asylum, a feeling of true elation that pulsed through me as I did it again, in a separate spot. Blood began to pour, and he began to fall to the floor, silent until he did so. And even then, I didn't stop. I did it again, and again, and again. Crimson covered my face, my arms, my exposed torso, and my hair. My breathing became heavier as I controlled any energy that I had into the overkill, until there was nothing but the color of blood in his originally white lab coat.

The last time I did it, I stuck the scalpel in the original wound, so that it stuck still and protruded from his chest. After that, I rested against the wall. That was when the guards finally came in. They looked down at the scene I had created, seeing the floor painted with blood, the wide, shocked eyes that underestimated how much power I had left. I licked my dry lips as they looked back at me again; doing the only thing I could after committing my first murder.

I laughed.

It was hot; the middle of summer was dragging into the apartment he sat inside. Joker twirled a knife in between his fingertips as he sat in front of a blaring television. He was tired, for once, unwilling to execute some plan that the police would never be able to follow. Earlier in the morning, he had already decided to save it for another day. Today, he was alone, and was allowing his mind to wander. To his left, there was an empty room that was unfinished. For a moment, he imagined the girl sitting there, chained to the leg of a table that had been drilled into the cement. And then the image switched to when she was in front of him on the bus from Gotham General Hospital. He could practically feel the fabric of the nurse's outfit between his fingers. The Joker could vaguely remember what her skin felt like as his hands suddenly curved to fit the shape of her legs, and he lifted her up to kiss her full lips while she wrapped herself around him. That was all he recalled before he switched to when she was shot. Her body was suddenly lying on the floor, facing away from him, with blood pouring out into a puddle. The only death the Joker had witnessed that he did not cause himself.

"…murder committed at the Elizabeth Arkham Asylum just south of Gotham." He heard the woman's voice on the television and realized he was sick of hearing it. The Joker reached for the gun that sat on the couch next to him. Picking it up between his bare fingers, he aimed it right at the virtual woman's forehead, just as she continued again. "Rosaline Carter Jacoby, heir to Gotham's second-largest inheritance next to Bruce Wayne, has been charged with a count of first-degree murder."

He put down the gun immediately. He knew that name, repeated it in his head all the time, trying to remember why it was he had kept killing anyone and everyone that stood in his way. Because they had all turned against her, an innocent woman, and they deserved whatever he gave them. But not Rose. Not Princess.

"Further investigation now leads the Gotham Police Department to think that it was in self-defense," the woman continued. The Joker watched her intently, his eyes narrowing. "Finding several pieces of evidence that conclude that Ms. Jacoby was continuously raped and issued Electroshock Therapy treatments on false accounts of insanity claims. Her condition also concludes that she was severely malnourished and without proper hygiene. Ms. Jacoby continues to serve her sentence at Arkham Asylum, now under close watch by the GPD."

A blast sounded throughout the apartment. The television suddenly sparked as a bullet penetrated the screen. Shards of glass flew out onto the floor, and the Joker didn't even flinch as he stood up, tucking the gun back into a holster attached to his belt. It was hot, but he still grabbed the plum purple jacket that rested on the table and an old cell phone that sat next to it. He dialed several numbers before actually getting to the first floor of the apartment complex, saying the same thing to each person that picked up. "Bring who and what you can. We're taking a little trip to Arkham." He had been coming up with a plan for months on how to take control of the ultimate haven of villains that had ever terrorized, in honor of Rose. But now that she was alive, he had forgotten completely about using the other criminals there. He had one intention, and one only.

After a few more weeks, I was starting to feel a bit more like myself. At first, I was submitted to many psychological and physical tests within Arkham's medical facility. The doctors there put me on a strict diet in order to bring up my health, and I was escorted to and from every room by two armed police officers. I was still handcuffed, but not nearly as bad as I had been before. I received a physical therapy plan and was allowed to bathe semi-regularly, at least. However, after all the doctor visits, I spent most of my days asleep. There were no more electric shocks while unconscious, no more visits in the middle of the night, and I felt as secure as was possible in a place like Arkham. However, I was still suffering inside. I didn't like the fact that my ever move was monitored. The food I was given barely was enough to satisfy me. I still felt cold and hungry all the time. Because I spent so much of the days sleeping, I could never get the rest I needed at night. So dark circles followed the sunken look of my eyes. I looked much older than I was whenever I looked in a mirror. It came to the point where I was so disgusted with how I looked that I smashed the glass with my bare hands. After I was subdued yet again by the guards, I was given a prescription for medication that was supposed to keep me calm during the day and allow me to sleep at night. A special formula was also given to me to use on my face to fix the problems that had appeared over the length of my stay there.

Several times, I wondered why I wasn't just transferred to a normal hospital. The response was always the same. "You killed someone."

"If you knew the things that were being done to me, you would have killed him too," was what I always argued back. And I was right. They would have. Anyone would have. Batman would have. The Joker would have. Often, I thought about and dreamt of the face that used to haunt me. Now I wanted to see it again. Despite how insane everyone thought he was, he had a rational answer for everything. And I had so many things on my mind that needed rationalizing. Did killing a rapist who was slowly murdering me make me a murderer?

It was a question that had again come through my mind as I was trying to sleep one night. I had already taken the medication that had been issued to me, but I was still finding it difficult to relax. It was hot inside my room, and that bothered me. I spent what felt like an hour tossing and turning in the heat before I finally gave up and lay on my back, waiting for sleep to come.

But then, just as I could feel my eyes closing on their own, an alarm began to sound outside the door. A blinking red light shined through it, and the intercom voice began to repeat the words 'security breach on level A'. I had no idea what that meant, except that something was going on within the asylum. Maybe one of the patients had escaped? I didn't know, and the guards that had been assigned to me had locked the door with the security lock before leaving their posts. So I wouldn't be able to figure it out. I was slightly worried. What if it was someone who was after me? Even though it was highly unlikely, there were still a lot of villains I had helped lock in here. If they caught word that I was somewhere in Arkham, who knew what would happen?

I was helpless inside a locked cell, and I could feel the medication finally starting to kick in. In the darkness, I couldn't see where I was going as I tried to head back to my bed. But my dizziness had me walking in circles, and I was on the floor before I knew what was happening. My head snapped up again as I heard gunshots in the distance, followed by what sounded like hurried footsteps. After that, the sound of the door to my cell unlocking. I could feel my heart rate beginning to speed up, and I tried to stand again, not knowing if there was a guard or someone else at the door. Again, the room began to spin. I didn't know which direction was where, until I saw the red light from outside. Even then, it was still dim, and I couldn't make my way around the room very well. I thought about trying to grab a weapon, but there was nothing that would suffice. I heard the door open and began to panic; finally letting my body hit the floor again. I backed up along the ground until my back touched the wall. "Who's there?" I cried, unable to see anything but a silhouette through the doorway.

The main switch to control the lights inside the cell was suddenly hit. The fluorescent bulbs turned on then, and I hissed and shut my eyes immediately. They had not been turned on that day, since I had not spent the day in my cell. For hours, I had been left in the darkness trying to sleep. And now I was facing them full on, without any warning. When I opened my eyes again, the room was extremely blurry for several seconds. Though the silhouette finally became clear.

I felt my heart skip a beat. My lips parted in a gasp, and I felt like backing up even further into the wall, though I did not know why. It was just a natural reaction. I suddenly felt dizzy again, though not from the medication. This was a whole new feeling, one that was quickly made worse as strong arms pulled me up off of the ground. I was pulled toward him, with his arm snaked around my waist. My hands fell onto his shoulders as I looked into the white face and red lips. My fingertips just barely touched the scars that formed a smile along his face. I felt the greasy, green hair and looked into the eyes that held the same shade in them, which were outlined in black.

"Hello, Princess," greeted the Joker, and he pressed his red lips hard against my own.


	10. Escape

"What's the matter, Princess?" he said after I did not respond to his kiss. I couldn't help it. I just stared. They were the eyes that I had been dying to see, the lips I had wanted to feel so badly. The smirk was so clearly fixed upon his face that I was forced to believe it wasn't just my imagination. His gloved fingers suddenly grasped my chin tightly, but I had become so used to that. I barely even responded to it either. "What's wrong with you?" he said again. It sounded as if he was speaking more to himself than to me. Again, I said nothing, though my lips had parted as if I were going to. I wanted to; I just didn't know what to say. But before I could think of anything, he tossed my face to the side with a frustrated snarl. "Go through all this trouble to save a woman, and I don't even get a thank you."

My head snapped back up. I gritted my teeth. All this trouble to save me? I wondered how much trouble it took him, and wished that it had taken even more. He noticed my reaction finally and approached me again, the same smirk planted across his red lips. For a moment, we just stood there under the fluorescent lights. His face was a cool smirk; mine had turned into a dangerous glare. I waited until his mouth opened, until the red lips moved to form more words. After that, I threw all my weight into my right arm. It instantly shot back and then forward again, a right hook that went straight into the Joker's jaw. It made me even dizzier to do it, but he deserved it. I watched him fall to the ground from the force of my punch, laughing while he did so. And then I got down onto my knees, pressing my right one into his back to keep him on the floor. "Save me!" I cried, finally finding my voice. I grabbed a fistful of the greasy hair and pulled his head up, forcing him to look at me. "You let me rot!" I shouted in his face. "I sat here and took shock treatments and medication that I didn't need!" My voice rose from shouts to shrieks within seconds, until I was almost in tears and screaming in his face. "You let him rape me! For months! I laid in this damned room at night, wishing I would die, that I could kill myself!"

My breathing had increased from my incredible anger, and I picked the Joker's head up even more and then slammed it straight into the tiled floor. There was no response from him whatsoever when I brought it back up. "You went through so much trouble?" I screamed and slammed his forehead down again, until a line of blood began to trace its way down his face. "And you want a thank you?" Again, and the blood increased. So did his smile. So did my anger. "FUCK YOU!"

I thought I was going to kill him. Part of me wanted to do it, and I even began to lift up his head again by the green strands of hair. But the Joker caught me completely off guard and rolled over to the left. I lost my balance, underestimating how strong he was. I had forgotten, and I had probably lost a definite amount of weight while in Arkham. My right knee fell to the floor instead, making me straddle his waist. His hands instantly seized my wrists to keep me from fighting back. The Joker brought my arms down to the floor then, pinning my forearms to the tile with his hands. I was forced down close to him, so that our lips almost touched again. "I'm sure you want to," was all he said. The blood had dripped onto his lips now, and he licked them before laughing right in my face.

I snarled with my jaw clenched tight, fighting to try to bring my arms back up from the floor. But he wouldn't let up. "Let go of me!" I shrieked, pulling left and right to try to loosen his grip. Suddenly, all at once, he let go. I flew backward from trying to pull away so hard and fell onto the floor. Before I could fight him back again, the Joker stood up and wiped the blood from his mouth and side of his face. Looking at the blood on his hands, I saw his eyes move back to me. Without warning, he brought the back of his bloodied hand across my cheek.

He used the same hand to restrain me again, this time by wrapping his fingers around my neck. He clenched it tightly, tighter than he ever had to me before, that I could remember. I reached up and grabbed his wrist, with both of my hands. My fingernails began to dig into it, struggling to get him to let go. But he didn't; he only lifted me up against the wall from the floor. "You want me to let go?" he muttered, dangerously. Like mine, his voice rose quickly, to a furious undertone. "You want to rot here again?" His grip tightened. I had to fight to breathe. "Or do you still want to die?" he continued. "Because I can do that too! I got through it when I thought you were dead, and I can do it again, especially if I know for sure that you're no longer breathing and that it was by my hands, Princess!"

The Joker let go of my neck. I fell, slid right down onto the floor again while I tried to breathe regularly. I coughed loudly, and my ragged breathing continued just as it had when I was angry. Though all of it had mysteriously disappeared. "You thought I was dead?" My voice cracked as I tried to pick myself up off the ground. The medication I had taken a few hours before was fighting against me. If I moved too fast, suddenly there would be two Jokers standing in front of me and coming in and out of focus.

"Well I haven't seen too many people survive a gunshot wound to the gut!" he retorted, facing the doorway and looking out into the hallway. I suspected he was looking for anyone who might be around. "Except Batman." I could sense the eye-roll that he did in the tone of his voice. When he came back, I could see him looking at my awkward stance: leaning against the wall with my head against it to stay steady. "What's the matter with you?"

I was embarrassed, even more so when I saw the blood that continued to flow from the wound in his head. He seemed to not even notice it. It was hard for me to keep my eyes off of it. "They put me on medication," I answered. "To help me sleep. I can barely stand up straight without seeing blurry doubles of everything."

He gave a chuckle and just looked at me. "People are always making things even more difficult," he said, reaching behind him to pull something out. I noticed the gun before he even loaded it and handed it over to me. "Grin and bear it, Princess, and just try to hit what you aim for." I looked at the gun with extreme reluctance. When I didn't move forward, the Joker grabbed my wrist and pressed the pistol into my hand. "You've already killed someone," he said, holding my fingers tightly around it. "Just gets easier from there." My fingers remained wrapped around it as he backed away toward the door again. "You either follow me or use that pistol to kill yourself."

For a moment, I was shocked at what he said. I didn't think he actually wanted me to, but then why say things like that? I looked down at the gun, then around the room. I had the chance to get out. Finally. Glancing back up, I waited for my vision to become clear before pushing off from against the wall. Instantly, a wave of nausea swept over me. The sooner we escaped, the sooner I would be able to rest, I hoped. "Lead the way, then," I muttered, and followed the Joker into the halls of Arkham.

We were on the lowest level. That was all that I knew about the schematics of the asylum from memory. The Joker led the way through several hallways past many of the cells. When we began to make our way to Secure Transit, we had to go through cells that had open bars in them. I nearly ran into the Joker as he suddenly stopped walking, just before going into them. "You know," he said, smirking back at me. "A lot of these guys haven't seen a woman in years." His shoulders shook with laughter as he reloaded his gun. "Don't get caught, Princess."

All the guards that had been on the job were either distracted or dead. We were able to just walk through the entire asylum. I had begun to understand why getting in had been so difficult. Alarms were set to go off in specific places, where traps were set for the guards that came to them. Joker had hacked the entire security system in order to get around it and trick everyone inside. By the time we got to the cells, I would have admitted a little appreciation for the trouble he had gone through.

The patients inside these cells took me aback. Their clothes were ripped and hanging off of them after all the weight loss they had gone through while staying at Arkham. Many of them were filthy and missing teeth and hair. Sure enough, as soon as they saw me, they would go flying toward the bars. Their calloused hands and yellow fingernails would claw for me, trying to rip my clothes or catch my legs as I walked by. If my arms hadn't been tucked behind the Joker's back, I would have aimed the gun at them. But I had to stay close to him, since they seemed to be afraid whenever he let a round of bullets go into the floor by their bare feet.

The door to Secure Transit closed, and I released a breath I had been holding for several seconds. I looked back over my shoulder, feeling the need to do so after walking through the asylum. The gun I had remained tucked into the back of my pants. I felt odd holding it and had been afraid of holding it at Joker's back. Before I could look back around, a strong arm was wrapped around my neck. The Joker pulled me up against him, and I panicked as the barrel of his gun was pressed onto my temple. "Not so sure of ourselves now, are we?"

I would have fought back if I hadn't noticed someone standing right in front of me. Apparently, Batman had gotten the alert that something was happening inside Arkham. The caped crusader stood before me, stock-still. I gasped in a breath. "Let her go," he warned.

"Oh," the Joker's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Right, because I'm just going to do whatever you say." He laughed again. I felt his chest rise and fall against my back. I would have leaned into it had the situation not been what it was. It was always cold inside the asylum, but the Joker was a radiation of warmth, having come from the city outside. For a moment, no one moved or said anything. I was getting impatient. What if Batman made me stay in the asylum? What if the Joker did? What if he made me stay? "Alright," he finally said, and let go of me. Unbeknownst to Batman, Joker pushed me forward, urging me to go. I walked without looking back. I knew what he was doing. And just as I moved to stand behind Batman, I grabbed the gun from behind me. There was a _click_, and the Bat instantly knew what was behind him.

"Don't move," I ordered him. Of course he tried to protest as Joker moved toward me. "I'm not going back there!" I shouted. "I never belonged there in the first place! And not even Gotham's famous hero came to save me. Instead came the most infamous killer."

"I didn't know what they were doing to you, Rose!" he shouted back. His back was still to me, and he didn't move as the Joker came and stood behind me. "You were Gotham's heroine. Don't betray it!"

My lips curved up as I suddenly laughed. "Like anybody knew I was actually there!" I cried through it. "Gotham betrayed me first! I was helpless, kidnapped, in the hospital, and yet the only person who was there to protect me was the same person who got me sent to Arkham. Go figure!"

He said something else, but I didn't listen any longer. I was fighting the urge to pass out, and the exit was extremely close. Our walk through the asylum turned into a sprint now that we knew Batman had come. Nothing stopped him for good, not even a gun. We had a few seconds of a head start, but it wasn't much. Once out the doors, there were vans that waited for us. There was one road that led from Arkham Island to Gotham City. And in order to make it all the way to the city, we would have to beat the Batmobile's speed across the bridge. "Get going!" Joker ordered to the waiting driver as soon as we were in the back of the large van. It was suddenly moving just as the door barely closed.

I was out of breath from running, and had to lean back against the wall of the van to keep from losing whatever consciousness or stomach contents I had left. I finally got to close my eyes and felt a sense of relief, even though I knew we weren't completely safe yet. The Joker seemed to have finally noticed he was still bleeding. He was wiping the blood off of his face and dabbing at the wound with a rag he had pulled out of the pocket of his suit. The fact that it was already covered in blood made me think it was originally used for cleaning his knives. There were several moments of silence as we drove. Having been a few hours already, I could feel the medication finally starting to wear off. I was drowsy, given that it was the middle of the night. But the nausea and dizziness was leaving. I could see clearly enough, and I finally said something. "Thank you."

xxx

A few miles into Gotham, and there was still no sign that we were being followed. I figured the escape into the van must not have been seen by anyone. But I did wonder why the police had not shown up at Arkham as soon as they got the alert. Were they just that slow? I thought so as soon as a racing GCPD car sped past us on the road. Then again, Joker had apparently done a lot of planning. Maybe he had formed a plan to distract the police with something else, leaving Batman to handle Arkham alone.

The van finally pulled over at a curb next to what I guessed was another abandoned apartment complex. I was wrong. It wasn't abandoned. I was surprised to see that people actually lived there. Names were on the doorbells and mailboxes. What had happened to the half-finished houses and the old apartment buildings? I didn't ask when we got into the elevator, and the man at the main door barely even looked up as the infamous Joker walked past him. It wasn't until we reached the top floor and had gone into an apartment that I got to say anything. The different henchmen went into their own apartments as well. "What happened to the abandoned places?" I finally asked.

The Joker threw his jacket, gun, knives, and bloodied rag onto the table. "They always look in the abandoned places," he said, turning toward me with a growing smirk. "They never look where innocent people are residing. They think I wouldn't be able to resist killing everyone in sight."

I watched as he sat down on the couch. "Would you?"

A few seconds passed where he didn't answer me, only stood up again and went into the next room to the right of us. I followed without thinking, straight into the bedroom that was across from the bathroom. "You know the funny thing about being crazy?" he said, just as I walked in. He had pulled off the purple, latex gloves and was working at unbuttoning the green vest that was over the purple dress shirt. I watched him toss it aside as if it were nothing. "It's that I'm not," he continued after I didn't say anything. I only watched him undo each button on the shirt. "My emotions are perfectly there," he interrupted himself with a laugh. "Well, some of them. I just like to think I'm the best at keeping them hidden."

He approached me, and I almost took a step back. His chest was bare, the dividing lines of his toned stomach moving as he did. The defining muscles of his arms did the same until he trapped me against the wall near the door, pressing his hands against it on either side of my head. "Why are you telling me this?" I finally asked, truly curious.

Another bit of silence, and he moved again. The Joker pushed off the wall and walked past me suddenly. I turned just as he walked into the bathroom and turned on the light. I could see him glaring at himself in the mirror. His eyes shifted to me. "Because you think I'm just as crazy as they do." I jumped as I heard the water suddenly turn on. I had looked away once his eyes turned to me. I feared the ways he could make me feel just by looking at me. "Clean yourself up." I looked up again, between him and the drawn shower curtain. He leaned against the open door. My heart suddenly skipped a beat, and I hesitated, stepping back a bit. "Doc's gone, Princess," he said without moving his position. "You killed him, remember?"

I froze. It was true. He was dead. "I should be more afraid," I said suddenly. "After months of it. Normal women would be."

The Joker laughed at me. I had expected it, but it sounded harsher than I had wanted. "Normal women don't usually get revenge on the one who did it. You shoved a scalpel through his body over thirty times, Princess. That's not normal." The smirk came back. "That's crazy."

I sighed lightly, knowing he was right. Or at least, it sounded right. It was plausible and probable that I was not as affected by the rape as I should have been because I had permanently gotten rid of who did it; something that normal victims did not get the chance to do. Was that why I still wasn't afraid of the Joker? I was too confused and tired to think about it, but I wanted to know. Why wasn't I afraid? "I guess it is," I muttered, sounding defeated. Still, I walked into the bathroom and drew back the curtain a bit to feel the water inside. It was warm, but not hot enough to need to get used to. Hesitating for just a moment, I lifted my hands to the orange buttons of the Arkham shirt I had worn for months. I turned back toward the Joker again, who was watching with the familiar smile on his face. I formed one to match as the top fell to the bathroom floor. "I guess that makes two of us, Jack."


	11. J

I let the water splash onto the front of my shoulders and run down the remaining length of my body for several minutes. After that, I turned, and let the same thing occur down my back. As time went on, I found myself continuously turning the knob of the faucet. Once I became used to its temperature, I wanted it hotter still. Eventually, I was unable to turn the faucet any further to the left. Frowning, I finally got my hair wet and washed it, ignoring the wrinkles that were forming on my hands from being under the water so long. I hadn't known how much time had passed, but I assumed it was close to an hour. And yet, I was completely left alone for it. No disturbances by the Joker, no hurrying me to get out of there.

I had been hesitant when he had first instructed me to clean up. But after our discussion, I was more tired than anything else and just didn't want to argue. He had told me something that made sense in my head, and I wasn't going to ruin its likelihood by thinking about it too much. He had watched me undress, and I hadn't done anything about it. He had stopped paying attention once I had stepped into the shower anyway. The first few minutes, I had heard rummaging around in the bathroom and the sink water running. Eventually though, the door had opened, and he had walked out. After that, I hadn't heard much else. Even after all the minutes had passed, he hadn't returned either. I wondered what he had been doing the whole time, or if he had left the apartment. That would explain why I had not been bothered. I decided to finish up quickly, now curious about his whereabouts.

I rinsed off my hair and my body and reached for the knob. The water shut off, and it was suddenly incredibly silent. I heard no noise coming from outside, not that I had expected any. The television in the living room had been blown to pieces for some reason. If I had cared more about hearing about Gotham's news, I would have asked why. But the fact was that I didn't. I didn't want to hear anything about Gotham. I didn't want to know about anything that I had missed. If anything, I wanted to feel like I had never left. That wasn't going to happen if I listened to all the problems that had sprung up while I had been gone.

Sliding the curtain aside, I stepped out onto the tile floor and looked around the bathroom. The door was open just a hint, and I could see a light shining through it that came from the bedroom. It hadn't been on when the two of us had gone into the bathroom. Peering around, I saw that the sink had been made into a mess of colors. Red, black, white, and green. Trails of the Joker's make up still made their way into drain at the bottom of it. That explained why the faucet in the sink had been running. Also, I noticed that there was a clean towel folded up on the counter next to the messy sink. A bit of a confused smile played onto my lips as I took it and wrapped it around my torso.

Staring at my clothes on the ground, I reluctantly picked them up. The orange fabric was filthy, and I didn't like the way it felt between my fingers. I would have rather gone without anything to wear than step into my prison uniform again. Plus, since it was so late, I assumed there would be no one else in the apartment except the Joker and me at the most. So I kicked open the door lightly and shut off the light as I stepped out of the bathroom. The clothes were still scrunched up in my hands as I passed by the bedroom that was right across from where I had just come.

He was there.

I couldn't tell if he was asleep or awake, but his makeup was gone. The green color had also been removed from his hair. I noticed it had gotten lighter. The sun must have done its work on him. Also, the red blotches around his scars were more present. He had done a lot more than just sit within this apartment; I knew that. Looking closer, I could see a bit of a difference in his muscles as well. They were slightly more defined. He had been keeping himself busy. That was for sure. I didn't have to question what it was he had been doing. I knew. Still, I noted the way he just laid there, completely relaxed. The only thing he wore were the purple slacks from his suit. The rest was piled where he had left them before ushering me into the shower.

I was about to walk past the door before he finally said something. "Where are you going?" I wasn't sure if it was threatening or just mild curiosity. It sounded like the latter, but I never really knew with him.

Going into the kitchen without answering, I lifted up the lid of the garbage can in there and stuffed the clothes from Arkham into it. I stared at them for a moment, not entirely sure I had spent enough time in the shower. "You know, those are the only clothes you have," he continued. Looking up, I saw that he was now standing in the doorway to the bedroom, watching me. His arms were crossed. It was strange to see him so relaxed; he was leaning against the doorframe. If it hadn't been for the scars, he would have looked completely normal. But they gave him away instantly. How I could be so attracted to someone so merciless, I didn't know. I didn't know how I could even stand to look at him like a normal person, after all the people he had killed, after all my friends he had killed.

But I was so tired, so tired of fighting that I just didn't care. I was being selfish, and I knew it. I knew that he had saved me from Arkham, so what else mattered? He had saved my life, so what did I care what he did with his own? Why did I have to be a part of all of it? Why couldn't I just stay the victim that didn't mind being one? I could look at him if I wanted. With the make up off, it was much easier to do so. With half of his clothes off, it was almost impossible not to do so.

And then I found myself walking toward him, back into the bedroom. I passed him, and he followed me. Stepping into the room, I turned to face the Joker once more. "Does that bother you?" I asked.

"What?" he responded. He wasn't leaning on the door anymore. In fact, he stepped further into the room and closed it.

"That I have no other clothes to wear?" My hair was still wet, but not as much. It usually dried quickly.

The familiar smirk appeared, and I knew he didn't. Still, Jack stepped closer to me. I watched his muscles move with him more than anything else. How could someone so bad look so good? How could I think someone so bad looked so good? Did that matter? I had already reasoned with myself about it. The only problem now was the fact that I really didn't know if my lack of clothing bothered him or not. A few months ago on the bus from the hospital, it wouldn't have seemed like it. But how did I know things hadn't changed since then? How did I know he hadn't found another psychopath to replace me, someone who didn't want anything to do with his killings in the first place? "Not at all."

For another minute or two, I just looked at him. He looked back with the same smirk and eventually approached me. I watched his fingers grasp the opening in the towel, and he used it to pull me toward him. I nearly fell against him and braced myself by putting both hands on his chest. At that moment, I had let go of holding the rest of the towel. He yanked it off of me and threw it onto the floor next to his vest and jacket.

Our lips met. It wasn't exactly a crash, or even hard at all, like all the others had been. This one was a bit slower, very out of character for the Joker, not so much for Jack. However, it soon picked up, and turned into a kiss that the Joker would have given me. It became hard, intense, but there was still a hint of passion mixed in. After a while, his arm went around my waist, and I thought he was just going to pull me closer. But instead, he shoved me hard. Our lips broke apart, and I let a small cry slip as I landed on the center of the bed.

"You lost a lot of weight, Princess," he observed, going over to the dresser that stood against the center of the wall. I sat up, waiting for him to cross over to me. He did, eventually, after grabbing a small knife off of the dresser. "A couple months ago, you would have been able to stop me just by standing your ground." He came closer, and I backed up automatically. The knife was open now, and I could see the blade. "Hey." He grabbed my arm and pulled me back to him. He was right. I had lost a lot of my strength after being in Arkham. He was able to pull me back with ease. Again, I slammed into him, up on my knees while he had knelt down on the bed. "Look at me." I did, and he placed the blade dangerously close to my face. Any closer, and it would have pressed into my cheek. I wasn't sure whether to be afraid or not. I didn't know what he planned to do.

The light was dim in the room, but I could still see every defining line of his arms. They were what I had been looking at before he made me look at his eyes. There was a dangerous glow in them that I could see, but it didn't quite affect me as much as I had expected. But it appeared that mine did differently to him because the knife was suddenly pulled away from my face. Instead, he tossed it away. It didn't land far, only to the opposite side of the bed from us.

I looked back at him with a bit of shock and fear. What had that been all about? It seemed that he had been debating something before tossing the knife away. I began to wonder what it was before he kissed me again. There was no passion in it this time, just a hot lust that passed through his lips to mine. It wasn't long before I felt it too. Within seconds, my arms were around his neck and back, my nails slightly digging into both of them. Without pulling away from me, I could feel him move to take off the remainder of his clothing.

And then it sort of snapped in my mind, what we were about to do, what I was about to do. I hadn't necessarily grasped the concept of it until now: sex. Not rape, but not love making. Just sex. The steamy, rough kind that usually happened between a real couple for the first time or after an argument. Well, there was no argument, and we were not a couple.

Still, it felt like it for the time being, that we were together. Once our clothes were thrown away, figuratively and literally, Jack pushed me back down onto the bed. This time, he pulled away from me. He wanted to look at what exactly he had in front of him, willing to do whatever he asked. At least, I was willing to do _almost _anything. The green eyes swiveled, as he looked me up and down, seeing more of me than he ever had before. Though I felt slightly self-conscious. On the bus from Gotham General, I had been curvier, with a slight tan and full hair. Now I could only imagine how pale I was after Arkham, with my hair soaking wet and dark circles that still lingered under my eyes a bit. Plus, I had lost weight. My curves were still there, but were definitely not as defined. Not as sexy.

"Don't stare at me like that," I near whispered. My arm still rested over his neck, and I had already twisted my fingers into his light hair. It was dry already.

"Telling me what to do, Princess?" he asked in a tone that sounded both dangerous and… surprisingly flirtatious. I almost smiled.

"It was more of a request."

What I hadn't noticed was how much we had moved while we had stared at each other. Jack had brought his hand down onto my leg and lifted it so that it almost wrapped around his waist. His other rested on my hip, and he had mustered the perfect angle. He had also achieved the element of surprise. I had not been expecting it when he suddenly brought his entire body down onto mine.

My arms wrapped tighter, and my nails dug deeper. A groan ushered from his lips, and I imagined that this had been the first time in God knew how long that he had gotten any form of sexual pleasure. I was a different story if the occurrences at Arkham counted as pleasure. I refused to admit that. But this was different too. He was technically my captor; I, his victim. What did that make this? Stockholm Syndrome at its finest. Consensual sex. That was how I saw it. I wanted it, and was only just realizing how badly I had wanted it and for how long.

Another groan, and my head reeled. I liked hearing his reaction more than anything else. It brought my confidence back up, that he liked what I had to offer. My nails began to glide down his back as his pace quickened. My body rose to meet his in an arch that was followed by a few moans of my own. Both of his hands were on my hips, controlling the both of us. My lips began to form his name against my will. 'Jack… Jack… Oh, Jack…' I thought my head was going to explode soon. And it reflected through my voice. The pitch went higher, and the length of his name increased.

Just then, he gripped my arms tightly. I wondered what was happening until he rolled onto his back. He somehow did it without separating our bodies, and I was suddenly kneeling, straddling his waist. My hands rested on his toned stomach, and his cupped my legs softly. The smirk on his face told me he liked that I was so surprised. But the look in his eyes told me he wanted me to move, to do anything, to finish what he started. So I did.

I slowly brought my body up and then back down onto his. It was a whole new angle that only increased my own pleasure. I started out slow, until his grip moved to my waist. Jack moved me faster, harder, and I complied. Soon, it was back to the same speed as before, and my head was spinning again. I could feel an orgasm coming soon: so close, so close…

And then I felt pain. Sharp, stinging pain that was slicing through the inside of my leg. My eyes shot open, all closeness to climax being shoved away as I stopped moving. I looked down, horrorstruck as the small knife was being carved against my inner thigh. Jack appeared like he didn't even notice. Though he held me steady by my hip. I couldn't move, simply because I had become weak from coming so close to finishing. The blood leaked down onto the side of his stomach, and he just smiled as it did. I almost felt sick. I couldn't actually see what he was doing until he suddenly threw the knife away again. This time, it went all the way across the room. And his arm went down again, satisfied with his work.

The letter 'J' had been drawn deep into my flesh. When it healed, it would be a scar. Permanent.

Seeing the look on my face and the tear tracks on my cheeks only made his smirk increase in size. His own scars shifted as he did so. "You want to stop now, Princess?"

It was more of a taunt than anything else. Would I keep going? Could I? Would I continue the sex with someone who had just mutilated me? I knew why he did it. It was a permanent reminder – to the both of us – that I was his. What didn't occur to me right away was that, should anyone else try to pull what the doctor at Arkham did, they would see the 'J', and know who had claimed me last. Or at least, they would be curious enough to know who did that to me. Who would want to take a woman who belonged to the Joker?

I kept going. To my surprise, he still held my hips within his grasp. He kept my speed up and even raised his body to meet mine. My nails began to dig into his stomach this time. My head shot back, barely able to handle it anymore. The feeling of orgasm began to reach me again, and I was surprised. I couldn't feel any pain from the 'J' anymore, though it still bled continuously. When I finally looked back down, I could see Jack below me entering the same territory I was already in.

His jaw was clenched tightly, and his groans came through gritted teeth. I watched intently, feeling his grip on my hips tighten. It was almost to the point where it hurt. I was quickly approaching my finish, but I fought it hard. I wanted to see him when he was vulnerable, and this seemed to be the perfect time to witness it. Our speed increased even more, until I was nearly shouting with an incredible amount of pleasure. A few more times of slamming our bodies together, and we both gave in. I did first, just as the tingle within me spiked to an ultimate high that made me dizzy. After that, he did, and I didn't think I would get to witness that vulnerability I had wanted until his lips parted into another groan.

"Rose…" and another. "Rose…"

I fell.

Unable to keep myself up, I collapsed, falling onto my back to the right of him. There were no words between us. He didn't hold me in his arms; our bodies didn't even touch. We weren't a couple; we weren't together. I was a victim. He was a murderer. But even as I remembered that, I still didn't care. This wasn't Arkham. This was completely different than what had happened at Arkham. And Jack had given that away.

He had said my name.


	12. Anger

The sun. When was the last time I had seen it? Days, weeks, at least a month. Or had it been two? What day had it been when I had escaped from Arkham? I didn't know. But that morning, I woke up clinging to the sheets of the bed. My fingers felt cramped as I pulled them away from the ruffled fabric. It was silent inside the apartment, except for the hum of the television in the other room. For a moment, I remained still, slowly recalling what had happened the night before. Sure enough, a slight sting in my thigh told me that all of it was real. Yet as I turned around in bed, I found that I was alone. The disappointment I felt surprised me, and I shook the feeling away.

Sitting up slowly, I dragged the sheet off the bed and covered myself up with it. I began to regret throwing away the only clothes I had, but I wanted nothing to do with them either. I feared that just seeing the orange would trigger a panic for which I was not ready. Still, what was I supposed to do without them? I stepped reluctantly out of the bedroom into the middle of the apartment. It was no surprise to find Gotham City News doing a follow up report on an escape from Arkham Asylum; mine.

There was still no one around, so I watched the news anchors talk about my rescue by the Joker. As they ended with the update that my location was still unknown, I thought that was going to be about it. It wasn't. They decided to follow the report with some information on someone I had planned on never seeing again.

"Amy Morgan, a long time friend of Jacoby, recently moved into the penthouse of Gotham's famous playboy, Bruce Wayne, since Jacoby's arrest and transport to Arkham," stated the anchor in her monotonous voice. My mind urged her to talk faster as I felt my fingers clench tightly into fists. "Our own reporters have been trying to get a word with Ms. Morgan about Jacoby's disappearance, but both she and Mr. Wayne have refused to comment." As she finished, the image on the television changed to Amy and Bruce stepping into the back of a limousine outside of Wayne Enterprises.

Even with just a glance, she looked completely different. Throughout our entire friendship, Amy had not ever been one for appearances. She never put on make up and hardly wore anything that had bright colors. She certainly never donned anything remotely close to a skirt. Over the past several weeks, that had apparently changed. In the clip that was shown, her short blonde hair was longer. It was perfectly straight with her bangs pinned back. She wasn't wearing her glasses, and her lips were a brighter pink than usual. Her eyes had been delicately made up with black liner, and her outfit consisted of a black pencil skirt, a white blouse and black pumps. It reminded me of the ensemble I used to wear for my job at the bar I had before the Joker's first abduction. Amy had disapproved of the skirt length even then, and now the hypocrisy of the situation damn near slapped me across the face.

"It doesn't seem fair, does it?" I jumped up from the couch as the news ended. The Joker stood in the doorway, leaning against it with a knife in his hand. I recognized it instantly as the one from last night. The sting in my thigh remained, but a familiar tingle shot through e as well. My heart jumped, and my breath caught. It was only for a second. "You're the one with the trust fund, and she's living in luxury with Gotham's most eligible bachelor to escort her by limo and satisfy her every night. Meanwhile you're holed up with a psychotic murderer with the very same reputation as himself." I remained silent as he kicked the door closed. How had I not heard it open in the first place? For a moment, his eyes lingered at the sheet around me, before throwing a plastic bag onto the floor next to where I stood. When I didn't move, he raised a brow at me. "That's for you, Princess." He sat down at the table, knife still in hand. I glanced down at the bag, recognizing a pair of my own clothes. I didn't ask for an explanation as I leaned down to grab them, but he seemed to think that I wanted one. "That little friend of yours took it upon herself to pitch everything in your apartment in the past few weeks. I stopped by to do a little shopping."

"Why?" I finally asked, hoping to answer at least one of the several questions I had. "Why do this for me? Why even save me from Arkham? You say I'm such a problem, yet you could have just let me rot in that asylum. You know it would have killed me eventually. So why?"

The rant surprised me, and it appeared to have the same effect on him for a moment. Perhaps I had just imagined it because a dangerous glare suddenly shined through his eyes. "I could kill you," he said. "I could at any second, and that's why I like you alive. You're so scared that I'll kill you without a second thought." The entire time he spoke, he didn't move from his spot at the table. His eyes didn't even focus on me for the majority of the time, only on the knife in his hands. "It's fun, Princess, because you still don't run away. Sure, the first time you did because you still had something. Now you have nothing, no one to run to. You could probably argue that I took it all from you." The Joker paused and stood up then. I instinctively took a step back, but he had his fingers around my neck before I could even think of stopping him. "Face it, Rose," I flinched. The sound of my name on his tongue was so strange. "You love the danger that comes from being around me as much as I love watching your mind unravel from it." The scars curved into a smirk. "If that weren't true, you wouldn't have continued last night after my blade went so nicely against your skin."

I could feel myself start to panic. He pulled the sheet away so he could trace the carving on my thigh. I wanted to deny it. So badly did I want to fight back, proving him wrong before I finished him off and ran…but to where? He was _right_. Where could I go? Who would help me now, except him? "What do you plan to do then?" I asked him through gritted teeth. My hands grasped his wrist for fear that his fingers might tighten. "Lock me up with the bare necessities for survival during the day and use my body by night?"

His response to that was actually to laugh right in my face. "Oh, no." As the laughter cleared up, he became more serious. "You think I've forgotten that you're a female replica of Batman? You're of such a great use to me, of you will be once I know you'll do what I tell you."

"What do you mean?" He let go of me, and my humiliation caused me to nearly dive for the clothing he had brought me. I winced slightly as the panties and jeans each slid over the carved "J".

He watched me the entire time. "You can't tell me you're not angry at her," he digressed. I knew he meant Amy. "If she had simply said you were in the hospital, you would have never been charged with my crimes. And Bruce Wayne? He could have done the same. Doesn't it make you angry that your best friend was too busy sleeping around to save you?"

"Stop it!" I pleaded. But once again, he was right. I was furious. I loathed her.

"After everything you've done for her? If I remember correctly, her life in high school would have been shit without you. You told her to go into technology in college and even forked over the money for it. You gave her a job after that too, didn't you? Making all of your little gadgets? You even introduced her to Bruce Wayne. You _made_ her, and she left you to be dragged off to Arkham!"

"How do you know all of that?" I was shocked, even near tears with rage. He was right about everything. All of it! I was shaking with absolute fury.

"She's been interviewed like crazy since you became so famous, Princess. Everyone in Gotham knows about your precious friendship and how devastated she was that you were found guilty." He paused. Could he say anything worse? "And there was nothing she could do to help."

There was silence between us. The information slowly sank in. Nothing she could do? "I _made_ her," I heard myself repeat. "I gave the bitch everything to make it in this God damn city!" I fell to my knees, wanting to do anything to make the anger go away. My nails scratched at the floor, clawing at nothing but wishing they could tear something. Anything.

A shadow over me told me the Joker had knelt down too. He grasped my chin and forced me to look up at him. "If you want to go outside, Princess," he growled. The deep, threatening voice thrilled me. My adrenaline was already flowing. "You have to do what I say."

I looked into his green eyes for a moment, taking in the excitement they held from my own rush of anger. He was enjoying this, my sudden rage. Wrenching my chin from his fingertips, I brought my lips against his, hard. He didn't resist, and pushed back even harder. My mind kept switching from now to the night before. His lips moved down to my neck, and his teeth turned my words into a pleasure-filled whisper. "I will."

x x x

I was aching for freedom. For the next several days, I was left in the apartment to do nothing but stare at the television. I could feel myself becoming sluggish. I wanted to run, to train, to spend hours hitting and kicking something until I was covered in my own perspiration. I needed to take my emotions out on something. Keeping them in my head was doing nothing but increasing their intensity. At least in Arkham I could scream or fight or throw punches. In the apartment, I could never make too much noise. There was always the chance that someone would grow suspicious and investigate or even call the police out of annoyance. If I was found and recognized, I could be dragged back to Arkham or worse. What could be worse than Arkham? Perhaps the loss of hope that I would be rescued again. Sure, the Joker pulled through because I was useful to him. But what if I wasn't worth it a second time?

So I sat, trapped, until almost a week later I was ready to snap in the silence that always came once the Joker returned. "I said I would do what you told me; why am I still just sitting here?"

He didn't answer me. It made me angry, so angry, but I waited and stared at him until I got a response. "Where can you go?"

I had expected a threat, not a question. I sat silently in mild surprise. It took less than a minute for me to figure out what he meant. I couldn't go anywhere. If I set foot in public, it would be the equivalent to him walking out in the middle of the street in full costume and make up. "What do you want me to do?" I asked through gritted teeth. It sounded more desperate than I had intended, but I _was_ desperate.

Suddenly, he slammed down the knife onto a newspaper on the table in front of us. I jumped as the blade hit the wood and stuck straight up out of it. Waiting for an explanation, I looked between him and the table. I got nothing. Slowly, I leaned forward and looked at the newspaper clipping. On the page was a press picture of Amy. She was hooked on the arm of Bruce Wayne, with her hair and make up looking perfect and no glasses. I felt another surge of anger flare up inside me. I wanted to grab the knife and plunge it right back into her-

"Would it satisfy you if she was dead?"

I was shocked by yet another question, and I was sure that it showed. It seemed as though I had just realized my hand was already on the knife, ready to lift it again. Immediately drawing back, I felt my anger fizzle again. "What do you mean?"

"That's why you can't go out, Princess," he said suddenly. "You're of no use to me if you puss out the second your thoughts get violent." He got up from the couch; I followed him. "The bitch took everything from you. You said so yourself. When she didn't testify in your defense, it got you sent to Arkham," he turned once we got to the bedroom, shoving me up against the wall. "Tortured, raped. You would have gone insane or killed yourself in there if someone else didn't do it for you, and you can't honestly admit to me that getting revenge wouldn't give you as much pleasure as I can."

There was a moment of silence following those words where I had entered a bit of a trance. I was back to the week before, rolling around in the bed as the knife cut into my leg. My own voice echoed in my head, moaning his name while his lips formed mine. How could killing someone compare to that? _"Probably the same way sex with a serial killer can,"_ I thought. Pushing him away, I stood up off from against the wall and crossed my arms over my chest. "What kind of person am I turning into?" I asked out loud. "You said so yourself," I turned back to the Joker, who stood with a knowing smile on his face. "I was the female Batman. I was a hero; not a known one, but a hero nonetheless. And now all I think about it how much I want them to suffer, all of them. I want them to feel the same pain I did, to know what it's like to scream out into the night with no one to hear you. I think about stabbing that man at the asylum, and I remember his blood on my fingers." Sure enough, I brought my hands up to look at my palms. Touching my fingertips together and feeling the warm, crimson liquid in between them made me shiver. "I want to see them beg to go back to the life that they took away from me, and then I want to take it away from them." I turned back around, facing the white face and green eyes. "What does that make me?"

Across from the bedroom was the bathroom. The door was open, and I could see the entire make up collection on the counter by the sink. My mind went back to waking up and seeing myself in the mirror with it all on. The Joker said nothing, only watching me as I walked to the bathroom and turned on the light. What first? The white. I took it, along with a sponge. The mirror allowed me a glance at what I was doing as I smeared it across my face: on my cheeks, over my nose, and around my eyes. Next came the black, and I blotched it all over my eyelids and around my eyes. I grasped the red paint, carefully brushing it onto my lips. I didn't go outside of their natural lines. I had no scars.

Finally, I covered my hair in green, and it became a mess that surrounded my face. I never knew what made me do it, but when I looked in the mirror, I was a female Joker, not a female Batman. I was the bad guy, and yet my red lips began to pull back into a smirk. I asked again, "What does this make me?"

There was a pause before he spoke. During it, he looked me up and down without even a single twitch of his lips. "Angry," he said, taking my hand turning me around to face away from the mirror. He ended up pulling me toward him with more force than was necessary. Our bodies hit, and my breath caught. His grip tightened, and I gritted my teeth. His other hand wrangled itself into my hair, and he pulled my head back. "Tempting," he muttered softer. The hand on my wrist moved up my arm, to my shoulder, onto my chest, and finally to my neck. I took a long breath. The thrill of his wanting to kill me had never left. The joker often painted the faces of his victims with the make up. I could only imagine what seeing his own image reflected on my living flesh did to him. It was worse than looking in the mirror. Both at the same time, he didn't like it and wanted to kill me, but loved the way I appeared in the war paint. "Crazy."

I pulled at the fabric of his shirt, forcing the Joker to move even closer to me. My voice dropped to a whisper. "Is the only reason you keep me alive really just because you think I'll be like you?" I had a feeling he knew what answer I was looking for. The question really was whether or not he would give it to me.

"You already are like me."


	13. Scarred

**A/N: Hey, everyone. It's been a long while, but I'm making a comeback, starting with this story! I normally don't do author's notes, but I wanted to let everyone know that I'm opening my Twitter account for anyone who would like to follow me and ask about updates to my stories. Follow ash_olszewski if you want, and enjoy the return of Rose and The Joker. ;)**

The plan started to unravel itself. I was back in training, similar and different to the way I used to train. I had returned to working my body to its physical peak. I practiced hand-to-hand skills that had nearly become foreign to me since staying at Arkham. The only problem was that I wasn't hitting pieces of plastic and rubber with my hands wrapped for protection. Now, when I screwed up, the dummies could hit back. Also, I was completely unprotected: no wraps, no pads, but my haired was tied out of the way of my eyes. That was how I had always worn it while in combat. It was as real as possible, and it went on for hours every day. The Joker would even watch sometimes. He would sit in the corner with a blade in his hand, or maybe a gun. It took place in the apartment building's basement. There was a lot of empty space where every one of the Joker's crew could just come at me again and again and again.

At first, they knocked my punches away and even dodged my kicks like they were nothing. Considering these were only street thugs, it was a bad start for me. They got to do whatever they wanted if they pinned me down was what the Joker had told them. It was my motivation to keep fighting back, no matter what, because he would not help me. Half the time I felt as if he was waiting for them to get the upper hand and pin me to the cement. Every day that they didn't, I would receive a reward: more clothes and food.

Eventually, my strength began to increase again. I lost track of how many days and weeks had gone by. According to the Joker, I had done nothing but eat, sleep and fight for two months by the time he let me go with him somewhere. After sneaking into my old apartment several times, he was able to uncover the storage compartments where my old equipment was kept. In those cabinets was everything from radio ear buds to daggers. He had taken it all, of course, and when Amy appeared to take inventory and finally move all of my things, I imagined she was quite surprised to find half of it all missing. Some of it we had even bought off of Wayne Tech., making it quite expensive. It was such a shame to have been stolen.

"This was all part of your plan, wasn't it?" I breathlessly asked one night. It was the first time since coming back from the hospital that I had been able to beat down each one of my attackers. It had been several months, though. Months. The streets of Gotham were near silent, but not in peace, and not in safety. Everyone knew the Joker had escaped the Batman and that Rose Jacoby had so far survived and escaped every cell she was cast inside. I sometimes thought about what the people of Gotham were doing at the moment. Children were still being raised normally in a city where crime was more likely than anywhere else to take their lives. The police were on constant watch, but it had died down since Harvey's funeral service. I had begun to actually watch it on the news, what everyone had to say about Gotham's White Knight. However, I was forced to walk away by the thoughts of how he was the first to deliberately try to kill me. I reminded myself of that a lot. Harvey tried to kill me, not the Joker. In fact, the Joker had always done his best to save me. He was no guardian angel; I was sure that the only reason he kept me around was because it would benefit him somehow. But it was just the fact that all the other people in my life who were supposed to be good seemed to betray me somehow. Out of the only ones I had left, the friend who had not wronged me was Rachel. What if she had survived? I would never know, but then, who did I have to blame for that?

"Do I look like a guy with a plan to you?"

I winced out of annoyance and stood up. I had been sitting on the floor of the basement for several minutes after finishing up the daily routine of beating down random thugs. Starting to walk past him, I retorted, "Don't give me the sarcasm."

Now he stood up straight, having been leaning against a sidewall. Before I spoke, we had just been sitting in silence while he watched the result of my victories against his men. I was about the press the button that called the elevator when he grabbed my wrist. I winced again. Sometimes I forgot that, even though he was working me pretty hard, Jack was still stronger than me. Not to mention, he always had a blade or gun on him. "Don't give me the attitude, Princess." He let go and pressed the button to call the elevator. The doors slid open, and he shoved me inside of it.

My mind immediately went back to the conversation from months back. I remembered what it felt like to have his make-up reflected onto my own face. I remembered the anger I felt at Amy and at Bruce and at everyone else who had been apart of ruining my life. It suddenly began to come back, and I blurted out, "I want to go outside."

The elevator was moving, but Joker seemed remarkably still, like he had been shocked. "You remember what I said-"

"I know!" I interrupted him, only doing so because I could feel a plan start to form in my head. The cogs were meshing, and I could just see the way it would go. "I want to see them, the both of them," I nearly begged, daring to walk up to Joker and cling to his arm. "We could watch them for now, learn what they do and when they do it. I want to witness their every move first." Looking up at him after a pause, I could see the thought of it forming in his head too. "Scare her like you scared me," I said, my voice dropping to a rapid whisper. "Rearrange things in the penthouse; write on the walls with her make-up! Drive her crazy with fear!"

There was a bit of a smirk forming. The scars twitched as Jack's green eyes finally glanced down at me. "You think it's that easy to break into the penthouse of Bruce Wayne?"

I raised my eyebrows at him. "You did it the day of the party. Do it again."

The elevator doors opened, and two men dressed in all black appeared behind us as we walked back to the apartment. It was quiet, as it was nearly the middle of the night. It wasn't until we were back behind a closed door that Joker spoke again. "No," he shot, to my disappointment. "Not until I know you won't fail."

He left me in the middle of the room, heading toward the bedroom. I followed. "I can't just go from vigilante to serial killer overnight!" I nearly shouted back at him.

Before I could even begin to fight back, his hand was at my collar. My back and head hit the wall, and the blade of his knife hit my throat. "Then you're of no use to me, are you?" His voice was dangerously low, and a shiver went through my entire body. Though it was not entirely out of fear.

"You know I was good," I whispered, aware of the fact that he could drag the knife against my jugular at any second. "That's why you picked me."

"And you proved me right," he argued, speaking with the same softness but with a growl in his throat that sent another shiver. "You were one of the best, Princess, and just through solitary confinement and a horny doctor, you broke the only rule that you and Batman shared." He took the knife away, and my breath finally continued. I had been holding it and had only just realized I was doing so. "If anger is your trigger," Joker continued, facing away from me. "Then let's see what pulls it."

Inside the bedroom, there was a dresser that stood against the middle of the wall. On it, there were always other knives or guns. He took one of the pistols and held it to my head. "If you're useless now, then I'll have no problem putting a bullet in your head right now and ending the pain in my ass that you are." He grabbed my arm and led me toward the bathroom, to the sink that had all the make-up laying on it. It was all a mess. Green and black liquid still left trails in the sink leading to the drain, and any towel in the room had already been stained multiple times. There were some days that Jack had spent hours in the bathroom, and I wondered what looking in the mirror here did to him when he was alone. "Put it on," he ordered, interrupting my thoughts. "But make it your own this time."

Believing that I knew what he meant, I picked up the white tube. Taking the sponge, I spread it evenly over my skin. The way Joker did his make-up reflected him: crazy, sloppy, yet it stuck. Mine would be more even, rather than just a copy of his. I used a brush to paint the black around my eyes, making sure to make the lines as sharp as possible. I did the same with my lips, doing several layers of the red but staying completely within my lip line. The whole process took a while, but I stayed away from dying my hair with the green. "I don't want green," I said simply. "It doesn't show up well anyway. I have to change the brown first."

Jack hadn't been paying much attention until I spoke. When he looked away from the gun at me, he didn't say anything. But he didn't have to; his expression said everything. I was reminded of the last time I put his make-up on. "_Angry. Tempting. Crazy." _Those words echoed in my head in order to fill the silence between us. His green eyes moved from my own up to my hair. Then he turned to walk into the bedroom. I followed without a word. "There was something else I found back at your place, Princess," he said, casually opening one of the dresser drawers and throwing what I thought were pieces of red fabric onto the bed.

At a closer look, I realized it was what I used to wear when working the same shift as the Bat. Lifting up the top, I could see holes in it where it had been torn and slashed. There were only three on the side of the waist; it appeared pretty strategic. The pants had been torn in places too, on several areas in the leg. "When did you do this?" I asked, assuming the knife enthusiast had been the one to carve the outfit.

To my surprise, he shook his head. "_I _didn't. _She _did."

I was struck silent for a moment, staring at the ripped clothing. Why would _she _have taken the trouble to do it? The fabric was pretty strong; it would not have been easy to just rip it like that. It was as if she just purposely stabbed the material repeatedly and dragged a knife across it. The only things that remained untouched were the boots, which Joker also brought out for me. I decided to try on the whole thing again. Everything still fit like a glove, and looking in the mirror, I almost liked this new persona that it gave off. "I'll never be what you want," I said, not being able to help picturing the doctor's murder again. Only this time, I was wearing this new ensemble in the fantasy.

"We'll see, Princess." Joker grasped my chin between his thumb and forefinger and forced me to look at him. "I have a new plan for you." His eyes traveled up to my hair once again. "You're right, though. The brown doesn't suit you anymore."

x x x

Black did.

The next day my hair was colored black, all completely black. I didn't look like myself anymore. As I washed out the excess dye, Jack explained his plan to me. I kept going between my vengeance and my vigilante beliefs. What would it be like to kill again? Would it feel the same as it did in Arkham? I could feel myself shaking as I stepped out of the shower. There was a new pair of my old clothing waiting for me, and I put them on quickly and brushed my new hair until it was dry. After that, Jack and I left the apartment building. I had to wear a large coat with a hood so that there wouldn't be a chance that anyone would recognize me once he dropped me off on the sidewalk. Rather than a van, we took a truck with tinted windows. That way it was less noticeable on the city streets. "Remember not to take things too quickly, Princess," Joker warned me before handing me my own gun. I slipped it into the pocket of the coat, along with something that looked more like a cell phone, which it was. However, it had been altered so that it would allow Joker to hear everything that went on and then call me back for any reason. "The pretty boy is smarter than he looks."

I stepped out of the truck then in a pair of black heels. The clothes I wore were similar to my old work uniform. Black top, black skirt, black pantyhose, I crossed the sidewalk up to the doors of Wayne Enterprises. Just as I stepped inside them, it began to rain on Gotham City. I took a deep breath and walked up to the front desk. Security guards were standing all over the place it seemed, but I did my best to keep my body language casual. There was a woman behind the large desk who looked up at me with an expression that gave confusion. Good. She didn't recognize me. "Can I help you?"

"I just wanted to know if Mr. Wayne was in today. If not, then could you please let him know I stopped by?"

Her expression grew warm, probably because I didn't seem like someone who was going to hassle her. "He's scheduled for a meeting in an hour or so, but I could buzz him now if you like and see if he'll see you up." She pointed me over to an area where I could wait, and as soon as I sat down, I felt the phone in my pocket start to buzz. I picked it up without a greeting.

"What are you going to do when she asks for your name, Princess?"

I hung up the phone right after that as the woman called me back to the desk. She had a phone receiver pressed against her shoulder. "I have Mr. Wayne on the line now, but I'm going to need your name."

I began to panic; I worried that even giving my nickname might alert her. "I'm sorry, I really can't give it. Do you think I could just speak to him myself for a moment?" Her eyebrows furrowed, and I swallowed hard. "_Please just give me the phone,"_ I pleaded in my head. After a moment, she handed it to me. I breathed an inward sigh of relief and put the receiver up to my ear. "Bruce?"

He must have known my voice immediately because there was a long minute of silence before he said anything. "Give her back the phone."

I did, and after more silence where he spoke to the woman behind the desk, she hung up the phone again. "You may go up," she said, gesturing toward the elevator. "Have a nice day."

Walking with a bit quicker pace to the elevator, I wondered if Bruce had possibly told her to call the police. That would complicate things. When the elevator doors closed, I spoke out loud to myself, considering Joker could hear me anyway. "He may have told her to call the police after I came up. Can you warn me in time?" I received no response. The phone didn't buzz, so I assumed that he had heard me. The elevator doors opened again, and I stepped out into the penthouse. I checked the time on the phone in my pocket. "_Stall him until she gets back from work. It doesn't really matter what you have to do. Cry for him. Seduce him, even, Princess. Bruce Wayne never sticks to one girl for long. Make her angry, and you'll have your chance."_

"Rose."

I shoved the phone back into my pocket, glancing up at Bruce. He was dressed to impress, as always, with a suit and tie. His dark hair was sleekly pushed back as well. "Bruce," I muttered.

He put an arm around me before I could say much else and led me toward the kitchen. "You changed your hair."

I ran my fingers through some of the black locks. "Obviously, I had to do something to change my appearance," I replied, pushing him back from leading me any further. "Bruce, you're not going to get me to stick around for long. How do I know you haven't already got somebody calling the police-"

"Why would I do that?" he interrupted me.

"For the same reason you didn't testify at my trial," I retorted. "You think I'm guilty."

Bruce shook his head, and I could actually see the real concern of an old friend. Sure, he and I hadn't been that close recently. However, when we were younger and in school, we were pretty close. After I had ended up losing both my parents, he was there to offer help on how to get through it. There was even a time where I thought we might have had something together before he went off to college. After that, he came back for the trial of his parents' murderer, and both of us were changed people. Our relationship was either strictly business or platonic from then on. "My testimony wouldn't have done anything, Rose. The records to confirm your whereabouts were destroyed. There was nothing I or Amy-"

"She was with me at more places than the hospital!" I cried, suddenly pulling away from him. I hated hearing her name. I had refused to speak it. The phone in my pocket buzzed once, but that was it. It was a warning from Joker to keep myself calm, or I was going to screw this all up. "She would have had no trouble recalling every detail of where we were together," I said softer. "I was left in that place, Bruce, to die and rot and be forgotten."

"And you escaped with the Joker."

I looked at him straight on, doing my best to force tears to form. "And I escaped from him again," I whimpered. "The only reason he broke me out was to keep me contained again because he thinks it's fun."

"Why did you come here?" he asked all of a sudden.

He wanted to get straight to the point because he knew Amy was going to be home soon. I had to keep him longer. "I need help," I said, continuing toward the kitchen again. I took off my coat and laid it on a chair in the middle of the penthouse. It was a good angle for Joker to hear everything from any direction. "I need money. I need to get out of Gotham and go start over somewhere, but I can't access any of my funds. I need to go somewhere that I can't be found."

He looked back at me for a moment, and I knew I was being convincing. I could see the pity in his eyes. "I'll arrange a hotel room for you tonight," he offered. "I'll have cash for you by tomorrow, and I can have a jet take you anywhere you want to go."

I pretended to breathe a sigh of relief, followed by tears and a dazzling smile as he picked up his own cell phone and began to dial. When he was finished booking a room at some hotel for the night, I glanced at a clock on the wall before he approached me again. He wrote down the address and handed it to me, along with some cash for a cab. I grabbed my coat off of the chair and checked the phone again. Just as I did, it started to vibrate again, and I picked it up quickly as to not alarm Bruce. "She's on her way up. Make a scene, Princess."

I had less than a minute. Bruce came back toward me by the elevator out of the kitchen again. "You're a great friend," I said, giving a sad smile and an expression that would tell him I wanted so much more than that. Bruce was brilliant. He could have caught the sign from a mile away. His pity for me was probably what made him let me kiss him. Beyond that, I wasn't sure what made him continue it. His hands were at my hips and already making their way down when I heard the elevator tone sound and the doors slide open. A few clicks of heels on marble floor, and then silence.

Bruce snapped away immediately, but I waited a moment to push the new black hair behind my ear and look over at the blonde across from me. My lips parted in a smirk at her complete shock. I walked slowly up to her, brushing just past her shoulder and around her again. "Welcome home, Amy," I sang. I had no problem making a fool of her here. She had done the same to me in public, to the entire city of Gotham. My anger was flaring up again. She was lucky she was within the safety of this building. "Tell me how it feels to be betrayed by your best friend."

Her hand was too quick for me to block it as she suddenly slapped me across the face. I had been expecting something like that, but not that quickly. The surprise must have shown because her smirk began to mimic my own. "Decided to learn a few things while you were out on a killing spree with the clown."

I lunged for her, and had it not been for Bruce, I would have wrapped my fingers around her neck. He nearly threw me into the elevator, but before I could even recover from it, Amy decided to follow me. She was actually able to shove him back through the doors and close them before he could get in with us. I dropped my coat to the floor as she lunged at me, screaming profanities while I just laughed. It seemed a bit backwards. She was acting as if I was the one who had ruined her life just by kissing her rich boyfriend. I was amused, but I was still able to fight her off, at least until she brought out a knife.

She had learned a thing or two from me, after all. It was no matter. I dove onto the floor for the gun that was in my pocket as she dove after me. However, before I could reach for it, Amy had a handful of my hair. She yanked at it just as the elevator doors opened again. Both of us fell onto the marble floor of the lobby. I fought her grip on my hair as I watched the doors close again on the only weapon that I had brought with me. Now I could actually feel fear. How much had she learned while I was away? It had been months. I was able to build up my normal strength in that amount of time. How much had Amy increased her own? I began to actually fight her now, clawing at her arm and trying to get away as she fought to stand up, but she beat me to it. Amy yanked my head back and pressed the knife to my neck, trying to catch her breath while I caught mine.

"Ah, ah, ah." I actually felt relief at hearing Joker's voice, "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Now I understood why none of the security guards had tried to break us up. They were either unconscious or dead. The woman who had been behind the desk was nowhere to be seen. Now Joker was standing there pointing a gun right at Amy's head, and I began to feel safe. "_Just kill her,"_ I thought, and I wondered why I couldn't just say the words out loud. "Help me," was all I could manage instead.

"Shoot me, and she dies too," Amy tried to reason, to which Jack only laughed.

"Knives don't work like guns, Blondie," he said, the humor leaving from his voice. For someone who had threatened to kill me multiple times, he sure had a problem when other people tried to do it. "You think a little cut to the neck will do the trick in the same time it takes for a bullet to reach your brain? If you want to kill her, you're going to need the time and strength to shove that blade into her neck and slice it open. Do you think you can do that before my bullet reaches your head?"

She hesitated for a moment, and I dared not move. However, just then a familiar black shadow rushed across the window outside of the building right behind where Joker stood. Lightning flashed outside, and I saw the bat silhouette. "Move!"

The sound of glass shattering caused Amy to instantly drop me, and Joker to turn just in time to meet Batman's fist. I stumbled to my feet as they fought, unable to stop glass shards from cutting into my hands. I began to run toward the elevator to open the doors again. My gun was still inside. I slammed my fist against the button, but Amy grabbed hold of me again before the doors opened. I tried to reach around to find any part of her body that would give me the upper hand, but she took another fist full of my hair and used it to slam my head against the marble wall. Then she dropped me again, and I fell against another pile of glass. I could feel the blood begin to pour from my forehead and could see it drip onto the floor through blurred vision. My adrenaline was rushing. I had to clear my head. I had to fight back. Jack and I had to get out of here!

Again, my hair was caught by Amy's hand. She brought me back up from the floor and this time cupped my chin with her fingers hard. I tried to grit my teeth as hard as I could while she did her best to force my mouth open. I shook my head to try to get away, but she forced me onto the ground. I didn't understand why I couldn't focus. During my training the past few weeks, I had no problem beating down every guy that came at me. Now? I couldn't even handle fighting a girl the same size as me.

I could see Joker and the Bat struggling out of my peripheral vision. The doors to the elevator opened, and again I made a dive for them. Amy dragged me back. Her fingers would not leave my hair. Every time I had an opportunity, she would just grab it and pull me back, and that was what I realized I had missed. Every time I trained, I would tie my hair back into a perfect bun to keep it out of reach and out of my eyes. I had gone into this with it longer and thicker than I had ever worn it before. Amy had noticed, and she had used it to her advantage. Now it was going to get me killed.

Sure enough, she threw me back onto the floor and this time got down on top of me to hold me down. I clenched my teeth again, for she went straight for my jaw with the knife. I knew what she was trying to do. I wasn't going to let her. I wouldn't let her do that to me.

"Let her go, Amy!" came the rough snarl of the Dark Knight. He was held at gunpoint, but neither his nor Joker's attention was on each other. He seemed unsure of where to point the gun.

Amy didn't listen. All she did was shake her head and stare into my eyes. I kept my teeth clenched as she squeezed my jaw harder, trying to wrench my mouth open. She had my arms pinned under her knees, and she was starting to even bring my teeth apart. "If she wants to be with the Joker, she'll look like the Joker!" She shouted through gritted teeth as she fought to get the knife in between my lips. If I didn't let up soon, I was afraid she was going to break my teeth with it!

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jack move. He swung the gun toward Amy at the same time that Batman aimed to tackle him. The moment of watching him distracted me from fighting Amy, and she managed to get the blade through my lips. My eyes widened as she suddenly wrenched her arm sideways.

| The Joker |

Never in his entire life had he heard her scream that way, for as long as he had known her and seen her since only seeing glimpses of her fake blonde hair when fake friends at Gotham City High School surrounded her. It was the kind of scream that made one's blood run cold inside them. Never before had the Joker missed a shot on accident, but just this once he failed to hit the target at the most crucial moment. He held onto the gun as tightly as possible while being tackled by the Bat. He remembered what it was like thinking that Rose was dead, seeing the blood run from her body before she was dragged off to Arkham. Anger. Pure, vengeful, searing anger ran through him. She was his: his target, his toy, his Princess, _his_ to do with whatever he pleased. The whole world just wanted to ruin her or take her away from him. They were all going to pay for it.

He scrambled up at the same time as the Bat, and the two of them went running for the opposite girl. He made it to Rose just as the blonde was pulled away from her. The Joker stared down at her. Tears and blood soaked what was once a perfect face. The knife lay beside her head, and she was no longer conscious after the scream that still rattled his mind. He watched as the Bat struggled to keep the girl under control. Batman was no longer focused on him, but the Joker wouldn't even care if he had been. He raised the gun and aimed for the girl's head. He waited for a still moment, and then he pulled the trigger.

The bullet went straight into her forehead, just as he had intended. Then everything was still again. The Bat was shocked, but he didn't care. He pulled the trigger again, and even a third time, just for good measure. When the Dark Knight came at him, the Joker shot him too. The bullets would hardly penetrate his armor, and they both knew it. Still, it was enough to keep him away while the Joker took Rose from the marble floor.

Her black hair was tinged red and soaked in her own blood. Her lips were still perfect, but the sides of them had been ripped open, just as his had been once from the blades of a razor. She was going to have the scars; the ones that truly gave the Joker smile. The Joker cursed the entire city in his mind. He was going to make sure every single one of them paid for what happened tonight and what happened at Arkham and what happened at the trial. He was going to personally hunt down every person who was involved, even if it meant blowing the entire city to pieces.

The truck pulled up on the sidewalk, and he climbed into it with Rose's body still limp in his arms. "Get a doctor from the hospital," he ordered. "I don't care which one. Just do it now, and bring 'em to the truck."

The two men sitting in front did as he said, speeding off to the hospital after seeing exactly what had happened to Rose's face. It was hard to tell in the dark, but the way they looked sick to their stomachs gave away that they had seen enough. The Joker could barely even stand to look at her face. Never before had he found it hard to look at gore, but even he appreciated a woman's beauty. Rose's had been taken away so quickly that he almost wished he would have paid more attention to what she looked like before. He could barely remember. He remembered her body. He remembered the scar on her thigh perfectly. He remembered all of it, except for her face without the mutilations. He could see her eyes. That was it. It made him angry, and he rolled down the window, letting the cold rain and wind hit his face.

"_Sorry, Princess."_


	14. Freak

"_Evil is exciting and evil is interesting, and plenty of people have a fascination for it."_

- Thomas Foran

| The Joker |

"Running out of time here, _Doc_," he warned the nervous Gotham General surgeon, who was busy tending to the scars. It had been a month. The sutures had been sewn and dissolved to form a swollen, pink track that extended her lips.

That night had been quite a blur, an irrational blur that would never have happened had it not been for Rose. It was always Rose. That night, when the doctor had been brought to the van, only to say that he couldn't do anything without the proper tools of a surgical ward, Joker nearly lost it, taking an entire hospital hostage within a couple of minutes. The deal was that as long as things went on normally and the police were not given any hints while Rose was being taken care of, nobody would get shot.

It started out smoothly. Rose was placed under a medical coma while the sides of her lips were sewn shut and bandaged. While she stayed there, the Joker would be in and out of the hospital, using several disguises. The room was shut off in a quieter part of the building, where no one normally would have gone had there not been a patient staying there. At least two men were always on guard outside of the room, with strict orders to not go near Rose and also not look suspicious. So they would be dressed in street clothes and would often be sitting on a bench next to the door. The only ones allowed in the room were the Joker and the doctors.

It was a good deal, until someone let the cat out of the bag.

"I-I can't control when she wakes up," stuttered the doctor after just finishing with a medicine for the scars. The bandages had been removed for the last time, and the sutures had finally dissolved.

Joker pointed the gun closer to the man's chin. "Then you better help us get her out of here."

The Gotham City Police Department was now focused entirely on surrounding the hospital in order to capture the Joker and Rose. Apparently, someone had let slip of the fact that the two of them were there. An anonymous tip to the GCPD had sent them and the SWAT team flying toward the medical building. The Joker had a plan-B in case this occurred, but it was only a matter of time before that route closed up. The only thing holding him back now was the fact that Rose was still far away in her sleep.

"It's not safe to take her off of these machines yet!" the surgeon argued as Joker began ripping cords from Rose's body. Though he didn't dare interfere. He still had a pistol to his face.

"See, Doc, here's the thing," Joker paused, walking over to kick the door of the room open to usher the two men he had with him into the room. "I don't really care." He turned to one of the men, who swiftly picked up Rose into his arms. "Time to go!"

He led the way out of the room, leaving the surgeon behind, to follow the preplanned exit path. After going down the rest of the hallway, he took a right and headed out of a gray door that held an emergency staircase behind it. The stairs led to each floor, but also to below the hospital to a garage that went uphill to emerge behind the building. Staff clearance was normally needed to use it for parking, but no one felt the need to question a war-painted madman with a gun when he wanted to go in and out. This time, the security guard wasn't even standing at the exit gate when the Joker's van drove through it. Just as the van drove off, police cars began to swarm around the garage entrance, coming from all around the building. The discrete getaway suddenly reminded the Joker of the bank robbery, where he had first laid eyes on Rose.

Brown, sleek hair that curled and frizzed from being shaken from a tight bun made its way into his mind. A black dress shirt formed below it, followed by a skirt, tights, and heels. Then there was a tan complexion and a made-up face that still remained a blur to him. Looking at her now, with black hair and lighter skin, she almost seemed incomplete without the scars. Now it was perfect. Now she was always smiling.

Over the past month, the Joker had moved his hideout to yet another different building. This one was still in the city, but was further away from the center of it than the last. Again, he found that a hiding place other people already inhabited made for a great opportunity to avoid the police and the Bat. Once there, he quietly had Rose brought to the apartment and put in the bedroom. There, he sat, and waited in the corner of the room for her to wake up.

| Rose |

How long had it been? Where was I? Was everything a dream, a horrible nightmare? There was no sunlight shining through my eyelids. It was just dark. Everything was black, even when I actually opened my eyes. They had to adjust to the dim light of what appeared to be a bedroom. My bedroom? Wait. No. Not my bedroom; a completely different bedroom. What was going on? Jack. Where was Jack? Where was the Joker?

He turned the light on when I sat up. The two of us just looked at each other for a moment, at first. Seeing him standing there, I could tell that something was wrong. He looked different; he looked at me differently.

That was when I noticed the mirror behind him, standing tall above the dresser in front of me. The face that stared back at me was a fair-skinned woman with sleek black hair. As I got up and went closer, I could see the red in her eyes: wide and bloodshot. She looked as shocked to see me as I was to see her. But the worst part was the scars. They were fresh, puffy, pink tracks that carved her smile into a crescent moon shape. I lifted my fingers to my lips and felt the same scars she possessed: my lips, my face, my scars. The pain I had felt when I received them suddenly returned. My own screams echoed in my ears, and I could recall the taste of my own blood, flowing into the back of my throat.

"You want to know how you got those scars?" I turned to the clown who stood next to me, twirling a knife through his fingers. He looked at me too, and he nodded when I didn't respond. "You got into a losing battle, Princess. You got sliced up. That's all."

My voice cracked when I spoke as I turned away from the mirror. I didn't want to see the psychopath staring back at me. "And then what? Tell me what happened next."

He held his arms splayed out and gave me a proud grin. "Put two bullets in the bitch's head and got you stitched up."

"Why?"

The grin faded, and his arms fell. I knew he had not wanted me to ask. He opened his mouth and simply retorted with, "Not sure."

I could feel my body start to quiver, and I wondered if this was what the Joker truly felt whenever he looked in the mirror. I wondered if he hated himself so much that he wanted to see it reflected on anyone else, just to get the relief. I felt like a drug addict who needed a fix. I wanted, _needed_, to see someone else suffer for once. I wanted to watch them writhe in the center of a ring of flames that steadily closed in, just to ignore my own pain. I wanted to get high off of the scent of somebody else's blood to avoid the withdrawal I experienced when imagining my own. I needed some release, some fix.

"Hit me," I burst out, turning toward Jack. His dark expression had not changed, but I could see his hesitation. Unwilling to be patient, I grabbed the knife from his hand and shoved the blade into the wood of the dresser. "Hit me," I repeated, louder. Again he did nothing, and I could feel my anger increasing, my withdrawal getting worse. I whirled around, aiming for his jaw with a wild swing of a punch. If he wouldn't hit me, then I would hit him. But he caught my arm in mid-air. He was stronger than me, and he forced my hand down, gripping my wrist so hard that I cringed. "Come on!" I shouted, gritting my teeth.

"Why?" he inquired. His expression turned from stone cold to sudden amusement. "You like being treated like an animal that much?" I tried to wrench my arm free, but he only twisted it tighter until I was brought to my knees with pain. "You think you'll get a release, don't you? You're upset because you look like me now, because you look like a freak, and you think getting treated like one will keep you sane."

He laughed as he pulled me to him, letting go of my arm and snaking his own around my waist. His free hand came up to my neck so fast that I didn't have a chance to stop it. His fingers pressed against my skin, and I could feel the ability to breathe slipping away. The Joker turned me around and shoved me head first into the plaster wall. "You want to be treated like a freak?" His voice grew into a menacing growl, and I fought to see him through the dark spots that clouded my vision from the blow to my forehead. "You got it, Princess!"

I lost my balance trying to stand, and he grabbed me again, this time by my left shoulder, and pulled. His fingers clenched and clawed at me until he had a grip on my shirt. Reaching for the knife from the dresser, he used it to tear the white top when he threw me once more. I fell to the floor with the pieces of fabric landing beside me. When I sat up again, he did hit me. The saliva flew from my lips as the back of his palm crossed my cheek. He used the knife to cut away the rest of my clothes, threatening that the blade slice every inch of me. I fought him through all of it, until one of his blows to my face nearly knocked me straight into unconsciousness. The streams of black came from the corners of my eyes, and my head rushed with dizziness. I swayed in place, and he picked up my naked body and held me bent over the dresser by my hair, placing the knife at my throat so I would no longer resist.

My nails dug into the wood when I finally felt a sort of relief. Spit and blood dripped from my lips onto the dresser while we had sex. The Joker shouted at me: insults and curses and disgusting fascinations with my body. He told me I drove him crazy, that he had imagined both killing and fucking me over a thousand times, just to hear the different ways I would scream for him.

The high I got was incredible.

I responded to his questions. _Yes, I love it. Yes, fuck me harder. No, I haven't had enough. More, Jack; please, more! _I took his insults and perverted comments with moaned responses. And when he took the knife from my throat, I let him pull my head up by my hair so he could see my face in the mirror.

By the time he was finished, my eyes were watering, and I was muttering incoherent words. The orgasm was better than witnessing my victim engulfed in flames or with blood pooling around them. I felt relief, a better pleasure than I had ever felt before. I was left alone in this ecstasy too, trying to breathe normally and avoid passing out onto the floor. I stared at my reflection in the mirror long after the Joker left, marveling in this release. And then I smiled as it replayed over and over in my mind. The scars spread and turned the grin into an eerie sneer. I realized that I didn't mind. I didn't care about what the city of Gotham and the Batman and Harvey and Amy had done to me.

But I wanted them all dead anyway.

| The Joker |

He continued to watch her after he had left the room. She didn't know it, but he observed while she stared in the mirror for close to an hour. He scoped her entire body up and down. Why couldn't he just kill her? At this point, he would have probably been doing her a favor. She wanted to die, and he knew it. On good days, she would pretend that she had been turned into something brilliant. But the Joker knew better. He debated tossing the knife straight into her back as she finally crawled into the bed. One jerk of his arm, and his one big distraction would disappear. He could have her body dumped at the top of the GCPD building, right in the middle of the spotlight that signaled to the Bat. That way, the cops themselves would find her. It would be a message to Gotham that good ol' Joker was still around, and he wasn't afraid to kill whomever he wanted.

He had raised his hand, his fingers itching to let the blade sink into her skin. He imagined it ripping through her spine as blood poured from the wound and through her scarred lips. Her eyes would be wide, shocked that he would do such a thing to her. They were always shocked. Why? That's what they would all ask, in between the screams to stop. But not Rose. She took the beatings. She liked them, even taking rape with gladness and satisfaction. And that was why he could not kill her. For once, the Joker thought that he had found someone crazier than him. Rose was his princess, his project, his proof that the best, most sane, generous, inside-and-out-beautiful person could turn into a freak. And what a freak she was: a lustful, dangerous, bloodthirsty, vengeful freak. He loved it, so much so that it made him put the knife down and continue to watch her. When she was asleep, he fully entered the room, beginning to toy with an idea in his mind. He decided he was going to bring Rose out into the open, but as a test. If she passed, she would get to go out again, and he would continue to keep her around. If she failed, then the cops would gun her down, and he would move on without her.

The Joker dialed a number on the disposable cell he only used for important calls. Rose was going to need some clothes, and they needed to be some that he didn't want to just tear off of her at any given moment. And they had to match his own. After all, he wasn't going to let her get all the credit. They were going to be working together, and he was going to make sure that Gotham knew it.

When he hung up the phone, he went over to the bed where she lay. His fingertips grazed the bare skin of her calf, all the way up to her hip. He could feel the bumps rise as her flesh must have tingled. "Back so soon?" her voice croaked groggily in the dark. She didn't move or refuse his touch.

"Think I'd just leave you like a buffet platter with my boys around?" He lied. They were alone, but she didn't know that. She didn't answer him. "I've got a job for you, Princess," he offered, continuing to touch her sin wherever he could. "I'll be proud if you do it right, but you have to promise to share the spotlight with me this time."

In the darkness, he saw her silhouette sit up. Her hands reached out to him and draped around his shoulders. "What is it?" she breathed, purposely pressing her bare body against his covered chest.

"A simple robbery," he chuckled. "Well, not entirely. You're just taking your own little fortune from the bank's greedy clutches." As he explained, the Joker couldn't help but press his hand against her lower back, pushing her closer to him. He held back a groan as their waists touched.

"Why?" she finally wondered, toying with the buttons on his shirt.

He smirked. "You know how much cash it will take to empty all your funds out of that bank? Ha!" He felt her jump against him as he let out a harsh laugh, using his free hand to take a fistful of her thick, black hair. He pressed her forehead against his own. "I want to see how you do out there, Princess. If you fail, you die, and I move on without you. I'd be quite disappointed. You wouldn't to disappoint me, would you?"

She shook her head slightly. "I won't disappoint you, J."

The nickname caught him by surprise, and the Joker shoved her back because of it, away from him. "Good." He heard her body hit the mattress, and he began to undress when she moved toward the edge of it once more. He sat down on the opposite side of the bed with his knife in his hands, toying with it a little before finally laying down. He reached over Rose's body, hooking his arm around her waist and pulling her to him. Throughout the night, he kept touching her. It was almost as good as cutting her, sensing the jerks and tingles and other ways her body reacted to his fingers. She never rejected him, even when awoken by his fingers inside of her. She would simply enjoy it and fall back asleep.

Killing was fun, but so was sex. And while Rose was good for both, she could be used so much more for one than the other. "It will be a shame if you fail."


End file.
